


crave my heart (it's bleeding in your hand)

by bittersnake



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Force Bond (Star Wars), I AM NOT PROUD OF THIS FACT!!!!, Red Riding Hood Elements, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, yes I wrote this solely to deflower Kylo Ren in a brothel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/pseuds/bittersnake
Summary: She wakes with the taste of salt on her lips and screams in her head.





	1. Loss and Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a part of the _keeping the stars apart - reylo fanfiction anthology 2016_ on Tumblr, this is a retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. This is honestly the longest fanfic I've ever written and I'm glad I've seen it come to fruition. Thank you to my fellow mods for making this project possible and for all of your tireless work. You all are amazing and I'm grateful to have met you through this project.  
>  And a finally deep thank you to my beta chrysogenum who helped me so so much on this piece.  
> Any feedback/comments/concrit are extremely welcome and desired, and I hope you enjoy reading this.

She wakes with the taste of salt on her lips and screams in her head. Yet another standard morning on Ahch-To. She’s been on the planet for almost two months now, and her days have drifted into an odd semblance of routine on Luke Skywalker’s hiding spot in the galaxy. 

Upon waking, she meditates. She’s taken to doing so since the first morning when she faced-- _Master Skywalker? No, call me Luke--_ across the breakfast table. He mentioned in passing that he’d come across holos noting that “ _starting one's morning off with mediation was essential for good digestion as well as quelling the ghosts of sleep._ ”

_Does it help you?_ dances at the tip of her tongue, but she resists. Her life has been an exercise in resistance. What’s one more?

During the day, she explores Ahch-To. 

There’s so much green here, whether it be the moss that covers the stones sprinkled across the surrounding landscape, or even just the grass and other plants that grow unencumbered on this empty swath of planet. Occasionally, she takes bits and pieces back from her scavenging strolls--a smooth river-worn rock, a particularly long blade of grass--small things that are easy to carry and to hoard. She takes them back to the temple-like structure that she now shares with Luke.

Rey’s been making progress with the reclusive Jedi. He often exhibits an honest, straightforward nature that reminds Rey of General Organa; other times he’s so vague Rey wishes she could just claw the meaning out from the platitudes that he expouses. 

He hasn't sparred with her no matter how much she pleads; whether this is due to unwillingness or inability is still unknown. But after the first week, small holos started to show up in her room. Some are on Jedi philosophy, others on meditation practices, but the most useful ones--in her mind at least--are the ones on combat forms: _Soresu, Juyo, Vaapad,_ and others. She absorbs them as avidly as she did the flight simulators on Jakku.

In the evening, she composes holos to Finn to be sent off with Chewie. Chewie’s been her main connection to the wider world since coming to Ahch-To, bringing fresh supplies and small treats-- _“you deserve sweetness in life, youngling,”_ he says, gently ruffling her hair with his paw _\--_ as well as a small container of a dark brown sweet smelling powder that he says to give to Luke.

(When she hands him it later that night, she finally understands how a smile can break through the darkness. Rey vows that night to bring that Luke Skywalker back to the General.)

 

Along with material goods, Chewie brings back news of the Resistance and, by extension, Finn.

“ _He’s healing, youngling_ ,” he growls absent mindedly as she helps him repairs on the _Falcon._ “ _Harter is an excellent medic and will serve the young warrior well. Spanner_.”

“But is he getting better?” she asks anxiously as she hands over the requested tool.

A long voiceless pause. She waits.

The Wookie makes a long, low snuffling sound. From her limited but growing interactions with Chewie, Rey realizes he’s sighing.

The greying Wookiee sits up and looks her in the eyes. “ _He is healing, young one. The purpose of healing is to heal; better is something that one must discover for themselves_.”

“...did Luke learn to how to be vague from you? Because you did an excellent job,” she says irritably. 

Chewie’s growl-laughs echoes through the maintenance shaft.

Night is when Rey’s days lose their comforting stability. She eats a meal with Luke (and sometimes Chewie, if he’s planetside), plays some game that involves Force training with Luke, then finally attempts to sleep.

Sleep on Ahch-To is a far cry from the nightly respite that she took from work on Jakku. There, sleep was merely her exhausted body collapsing from scavenging the desert wasteland, her mind failing into an abyss. Here, sleep embraces her willingly, but rarely does it provide the all consuming void to which Rey is accustomed. Instead, she dreams of _him_.

She didn’t know it _was_ him at first. Her first dream/vision was of sitting, a small pair of golden dice cradled in her hands. She was crying. Or at least she _thought_ so until she/he/they lifted their head and saw the face reflected off of the transparisteel window. It was a small face. Cheeks still rounded with baby fat, hair and wet eyes both dark, all of this framing ears that seemed far too large for a child. 

That figure, in various shapes and guises, was the single constant in her dreams as they ebbed and receded over time. Some of them are of him as a child-- _Ben_ a rough, worn voice from her not-so-distant-past cries out--others are of him older, on the cusp of manhood, struggling with the weight of the past and his legacies. 

It’s odd, dreaming of him. It’s not like her normal dreams, which are more like watching an old, broken holo. It’s like she _is_ him. Feeling both sensation and emotion through him. She has no control. She loathes having no control; she starts to hate the dreams. She copes. If nothing else, Rey is resilient. The eternal sands and isolation of Jakku did not destroy her and neither will dreams of a monster’s origins. 

Though this current set of dreams might do her in. They’re not _bad_ dreams, per se; quite the opposite. They’re dark dreams, yes, but dreaming of a figure cloaked in shadows worshipping between her thighs is far, _far_ more enjoyable to Rey than surrendering control to the confusing, conflicting past of her enemy. 

The figure focuses on her clit, interspersing with soft wet licks between her swollen folds. 

She sighs.

_Much better than the other dreams._

She cards her fingers through the figure’s hair. It’s thick and on the longish side. Not enough for a ponytail (or maybe a very small one), but definitely long enough to pull. 

So she does. The figure groans low and deep at this, calloused fingertips grasping tightly at her hips. Resistant to relinquishing their altar of choice. It’s not the best she’s had, but they make up for it in enthusiasm. She pulls again. 

“I want to touch you, _now,”_ she adds, clawing at her mystery lover’s scalp. 

Somewhat reluctantly, her lover removes their frame from between her legs and slowly moves upwards, nipping along her form. A lick along her hipbone, a long, soft suck around her ribs, a quick bite at one of her nipples with soothing, apologetic kisses when she flinches. They’re large and broad, she notices. Her hands slip from the back of their head to their neck to the warm, broad planes of their back. She notices a swollen hardness brushing against her thighs when they move their hands to cradle her face, kissing her tentatively. Their mouth is sticky with the salt of her.

She hums at this, rocking into their hips. They slowly release her lips and she runs her hand over their face, opening her eyes. They have a firm full mouth, she notices hazily, with an odd roughness like a still healing scar tissue across part of his face….

Scar.

Rey wakes screaming.

Her mind races, actively trying to reconcile the appallingly _intimate--_ dream-- _vision--desire_. As conflicted as her mind is, her body-- _the traitor_ \--is depressingly single-minded. She’s flushed. She’s warm. She’s _aching_ and distracted and her skin is tight with denied release _._

After too many nights of dreams of _that_ nature, she reaches a sort of truce with her body.

She rolls over, bites her pillow, and begins.

If she’s helped along by a tall shadowy figure _, well it’s only a dream,_ Rey reasons.


	2. The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dreams of an ocean and a woman raised by sand.

He still feels the slice. 

Not actually on his face--that searing sensation has finally quelled. It’s dulled to a mild throbbing at most-- _Learn from this incident. Savor the pain, Master of the Knights of Ren._ Snoke’s voice permeates his flesh as he gingerly prods at the lacerated flesh in the early-dark of what passes for morning on the _Finalizer_.

It’s been three months.

He still remembers. 

The _snap-hiss_ of the blades. The burning smell of flesh that filled the air. The frigid air clawing through his lungs.The ice. The darkness. The cold. 

Her.

The scavenger-woman prowling around his prone gasping form. Teeth bared, with him at her mercy.

_SPLASH!_

Water drips down his face as he stares at his reflection in the fresher’s mirror. 

It’s a face. 

It’s _his_ face. 

A long roundish shape. Brownish dots that are randomly scattered about on his face, down to his neck. Small dark eyes. Ears that are mercifully covered both by dark hair as well as a mask. 

( _“You’ll grow into them one day,”_ Ben Solo’s past whispers.)

He sinks into the water of the bath. There are many things that Kylo Ren has shed from his past life: Sweets, the fellowship of others, leisurely respite, among others. The only luxury that he has kept as a holdover of his previous life is the requirement that his quarters contain not a sonic shower, but one with running water and a bath attached to it.

The water is scalding, a far cry from the ice he laid upon mere months ago. He lies back and lets his mind drift. The moments in which his mind is free of his knights’ needs and his master’s demands are far and few between. He savors them.

He dreams of an ocean and a woman raised by sand.

The lines of her frame are sparse but fluid. Her soft skin radiates heat. Her presence is warmth itself.

Fingertips rubs gently against his lips, silently asking entrance. He sucks. The woman hums softly into his shoulder, leisurely grinding against him, setting his nerves alight. He pulls her closer as she slowly removes the fingers from his mouth with a soft _pop_ , drawing one of her legs over his hips. She’s _wet_. He stifles a groan against her lips when she slowly drags spit-slicked fingers down his chest. She pauses, her palm ghosting across the base of his shaft _just_ out of reach. He shifts his hips towards her, hoping that she’ll take mercy on him.

Wolves have no mercy for their prey.

_Please_ , he rasps against her mouth. She slowly thumbs the swollen head of his cock--

_‘Beep beep beep’_

Kylo breathes deeply, striving to recenter himself for the task ahead. He has no time for ghosts of a failure.

“What is it?” he barks through the comm system. 

“The S-supreme C-c-commander has requested your pr-presence, Ma-master Ren,” the unfortunate soul stutters out.

Kylo stills at this. Lord Snoke normally sends his requests to him _directly_ , without an intermediary. While he is not dismayed by this change in method of contact, he is hesitant to ascribe any particular meaning to this.

He irritatedly grabs a towel. _Of course there’s a meaning for this,_ he berates himself while aggressively drying his face. _Starkiller was an embarrassment, Skywalker still hasn’t been found, the traitor walks free, and the girl._

He stills.

Ghosts seek to rise. 

He bites the inside of his cheek till he bleeds, striving to reach into the Dark Side for strength.

Nothing. 

Ever since the girl. There’s been nothing. 

The Dark Side is there. He feels it. Tastes it.

He can even use it if need be, but its strength eludes him. 

He feels like a child again trying to swing the saber, but the form and proper bladework are just beyond his grasp. He feels weak. He _hates_ feeling weak.

He had hoped that the last bit of weakness would have died when he killed Han Solo. Instead of strength, he’s been cursed with weakness.

His path is true.

He’s reforged himself for death and order. There is no room for the temptations of a weak and foolishly flawed man. 

He gets dressed.

A request from the Supreme Commander demands prompt execution.

\------------

Lord Snoke has sensed the Master of the Knights of Ren’s confusion. He is understanding. Consoling. _Using you,_ whispers a dead man. Kylo buries that voice.

“Do you understand, my apprentice?” Snoke intones. Kylo strives to remember what was said mere seconds earlier. Ah, yes. The Dark Side. 

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” he replies, kneeling in front of the projection of his master. “The First Order’s fleet is re-grouping to determine the next plan of action against the Resistance.” 

“Correct. You will not be joining us.” 

Kylo freezes at this statement. He swallows. “Supreme Leader,” Kylo pleads. “I assure you I am more than ready to--” 

“Are you questioning my orders, Kylo Ren?” is the dry, chiding reprimand. 

“No, Supreme Leader. I merely believe--” 

“That you know more than the one who is responsible for your training?”

He flinches at this, Snoke’s displeasure rolling down his spine.

He swallows.

“Forgive me, Master.” He stays kneeling, almost curling into himself.

“Rise, Lord Ren. Your devotion to our cause is not in doubt, merely that your abilities are best served for a higher purpose.”

Kylo’s pulse races at this. “Master?”

“You have been struggling to channel the darker nature of the Force, have you not?” 

_He knows, he knows, he knows._

“Forgive me, Master,” he replies. 

The projection of Snoke waves away Kylo’s attempts at apologies. “No matter, my apprentice. The goal of your mission is far more meaningful than mere ships amongst the stars.”

_Don’t tell the General that_ , Kylo thinks bitterly, listening to Snoke’s commands. 

“Your goal is to fully embrace the Dark Side of the Force,” Snoke continues. “You are to proceed to Yavin IV and meditate with the Force to determine your path. These are the final steps to complete your training as Master of the Knights of Ren. Through this, you will shed any last shreds of compassion for _her_ and be able to focus on your potential in the Force. Do you understand this, Kylo Ren?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Kylo murmurs. “Truly you are wise.”

“And Lord Ren?”

“Yes, Master.”

“See that you do not fail me again.” At this Snoke rises and the projection fades away, leaving Kylo in dust and darkness. 

\------------

He packs lightly. Both out of necessity and habit, a long gone specter of his past.

Saber, a monstrous cross shaped piece of metal, on the verge of collapse.

Spare clothes, black.

Standard rations, nutritionally sufficient for multiple days in the field. 

Credits. While the First Order is feared, Kylo recognizes the value of a few credits in the right palm. _Never use a blaster when a smile and few chits can go farther, whispers his uncle, rubbing a silver piece between his umber fingers._

A blaster. Not his preferred weapon but an unfortunate necessity. 

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone. Only that the Supreme Leader is wise.

He believes the Supreme Leader is wise.

His path is set.

He has no choice.

_There’s always a choice, Ben._

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/feedback/concrit are deeply appreciated!  
> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @ mnemehoshiko


	3. The Whispers That Remain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren has never been to Yavin IV.

Kylo Ren has never been to Yavin IV.

_Ben Solo remembers Yavin IV._

He knows the sanitized history of the inventively named fourth moon of Yavin. It’s a jungle heavy planet that formerly hosted the then-Rebellion before they relocated to the barren ice-laden wasteland known as Hoth. 

_Ben Solo remembers sitting at the base of a tree and feeling the Force flow up from its roots to stretch towards the sky._

_“The Force is all around us, Ben. Feel it. Sense it. Embrace it.”_

Kylo also knows the truer, darker history of the moon. The blood that coated the ground. The bones of the victims that helped the jungle _thrive_ on the satellite. He feels the Dark Side surrounding him, thick and cloying. There are old ghosts here. Powerful. Deadly. Vengeful. 

The Dark Side is strong here. It should comfort him. This is why Snoke sent him, because he believed that Kylo Ren was ready to fully embrace the Dark Side.

Kylo Ren believes he’s ready as well. As soon as he can find actually find the Sith temple.

A mournful bird shrieks in the distance, sounding defeated.

He can empathize.

He’s not _lost,_ per se, he’s merely taking the scenic route. There’s nothing in his Dark Side training that says you can’t appreciate the finer things in life. Such as trees, vines, and yet more trees and vines, and he may be lost. 

_Kriff._

He should have brought a droid.

He could have brought a droid.

_Ben Solo would have brought a droid._

He had assumed that an ancient Dark Side temple would be a bit more... _aggressive_ in asserting its presence. Kylo stops in a clearing and tries to reach out to his surroundings with the Force.

The air is still.

He feels the various creatures inhabiting the planet, from the small lizard crabs in the shallow pools interspersed across the planet's surface, to the lumbering woolamanders swinging amongst the canopies far above him. 

He digs deeper.

He feels the tree. The tree that Ben Solo knew. 

He ignores it. He has no time to deal with a past filled with disappointment. 

Kylo hears whispers. _Ah, there we are,_ he sighs in relief. _There is no death, only the Force._ He stills at this thought. Those are words that only seek to distract him from his cause. His path. The only path he has. 

He keeps walking. 

\------------

It’s large, made of blaster-scarred durasteel panels. The top is flat with heavy, sloping walls. The structure is constructed as if it was built to withstand large bouts of damage. It’s solid and sturdy and looks _absolutely nothing like a Sith Temple_. 

It _does_ look like a bunker. 

He assesses his surroundings. The day is waning and it’s getting cooler. He’ll either have to head back to his ship and admit that he’s wasted the entire day searching for the temple, or press forward.

The Force thrums around him as it normally does, but he feels a dull Dark echo in his mind from the structure in front of him. There’s _something_ reeking of the Dark Side within those walls, even though it’s not the most imposing of structures.

The light is fading. He might as well welcome the darkness.

Kylo treads up the gnarled, vine-encrusted walkway and pulls on what remains of the door. It groans slightly, but stays closed. He grasps the handle more firmly and tries again. 

Nothing.

After all these years, the lock to the base hasn’t sacrificed itself to the sands of time, but instead _is still functioning._

He sighs and strips off his gloves. While the Force is useful for many things, sometimes a more physical approach is preferable. He lays his palm on the face of the door. It’s old and filthy. _Maybe I should have kept my gloves on,_ he thinks. He runs his fingertips along the perimeter, searching. 

_There it is._ He finds a subtle, dented groove along one of the sides and curls his fingers slightly inwards, trying to get some purchase on the flaw in the panel. There’s an odd, almost mournful creak as the piece of durasteel finally gives way. The access panel is mercifully still intact.

It’s an older model of panel, but modern enough to be using Aurebesh. He doesn’t have the passcode, but he does have some slicing knowledge. There are some who say the Force belongs only to the sentient; Kylo would argue otherwise. A heart is merely a source of life, whether it’s lined with veins flushed with blood or streams of binary input. The key is to know how to listen. He is an excellent listener. _Just like your old man, Han Solo ruffles Ben’s hair proudly._

Silence.

And then with a faint _hiss_ the door slowly gives way, giving Kylo Ren admittance into its depths.

\------------

The air is stale.

The Force is also still. No, not still. _Untouched_. 

Kylo knows now that this is no Sith Temple, but a former base from the Galactic Civil War. Most likely one of the earlier strongholds, long since abandoned. 

“ _Commander, we’ve received news of---”_

_“We’re relocating to the--”_

_“You saw that farm kid just hit that--”_

_“Did you see that Wookiee--”_

The deeper he goes into the base, the more he’s subjected to pasts other than his own. He tries to suppress these images, but only succeeds in amplifying them more. He heads down one of the winding corridors and the voices keep coming. Faster. Stronger. Louder.

_“They say he’s a Jedi? Nah, everyone knows that’s just some hokey religion. But he has a lightsaber! He probably got it from some grave or something, everyone knows the Jedi are dead. ”_

The Jedi are as good as dead, he thinks bitterly. 

_“Princess!”_ a voice calls out. A voice he planned on never hearing again. He turns reluctantly as if the Force is commanding him, rather than a tool that is at his bidding. What he sees is worse. 

Instead of a dead man in his waning years, there’s a young small woman in front of him. He recognizes her from old holos. _He remembers holding those hands. He sees those ears when he looks into a mirror._ The woman is coming towards him. Her stride is purposeful.

He steps back but not quick enough to avoid her walking directly up to him. 

_She barely comes up to his chest._

She’s looking straight through him.

Suddenly, she speaks. 

“Please inform Captain Solo that his efforts are appreciated, and that payment will be released immediately,” she says, marking something off on her datapad.

She stills.

Tilts her head up _as if to look him in the eye._

That’s impossible. She’s not dead. _She can’t be dead._

“Han Solo made a choice,” the not-Leia says. She reaches up, rising to her toes, placing a palm on his neck, pulling Kylo down to close the gap. He doesn’t feel flesh and bone, but the weight of legacy and death. “What choice will you make, Kylo Ren?” she hisses into his ear. The simulacrum releases him. It steps back. It leaves a trail of blood in its wake.

_This isn’t real_ , he thinks frantically. _This isn’t real._

The entity changes. It’s _ages_ till it finally settles into a woman that’s vaguely familiar. _Mother, you’ve gotten old. When did you did get old?_ Ben Solo mourns.

_“What choice will you make, Kylo Ren?”_

The apparition bursts into flame.

Kylo Ren screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments (both good and bad or just random thoughts) and concrit are greatly appreciated! Feel free to hit me up on my tumblr/mnemehoshiko. ^_^


	4. The Force's Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey wishes for uncomplicated sleep. We rarely get what we wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O_O   
> I'm honestly super touched by the response to this fic thus far and hope it lives up to your expectations!!!

Her head _hurts_. The dreams, both benign and otherwise, she could handle. Even the dull throbbing pain along her side is preferable to the kaleidoscope of agony bursting within her skull. Even Master Luke is starting to probe. 

“Have you tried meditating?” he asks one early dawn, after seeing the aftermath of one of her headaches. 

“You keep asking me that and yet the answer never changes,” she snipes in response, desperately trying to massage the pain that’s radiating from her skull. 

He places a mug beside her. She stares questioningly at it, then at Luke, and then back again. 

“It’s caf.”

“And you’re giving me this why?”

“Sometimes a stimulant can assist with clarity.”

Rey blinks at this. _What clarity?_ rattles in her head along with the muffled screams.

Luke folds his arms, hands disappearing into long wide roughspun sleeves, and sits back. “It also helps with alertness; you look like hell.” 

She slowly brings the mug to her lips. It smells heavy and dark and looks like the powder that Chewie brought a few months ago, but the fragrance is different. She takes a large gulp.

And promptly gags.

“ _What the kriffing hell did you give me_!?” she chokes out desperately as she searches for the pitcher of fresh water that’s always present at meals. 

Luke quickly waves a hand, using the Force to provide his gasping student some relief. 

“Caf,” he replies weakly, slowly seeing his good intentions fall apart. Rey glares at him. 

“But your head feels better, doesn’t it?” he presses on, waving over a towel to mop up the spilled remains. 

Rey stills at his question. She gingerly removes her fingers from her…less aching skull. Her face resembles her namesake at this realization. “It’s gone,” she says in wonder.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief at this and pushes onwards. “You’ve been sleeping poorly for the past few weeks, haven’t you?”

She hesitates. Yes, she has been sleeping fitfully. But she can’t admit she’s spent her nights dreaming of a dark twisted soul and his past, with his present self carving a space between her legs. There’s a fine line between that and asking her teacher in the Force-- a mystical power that she thought was a mere child’s tale told instill false hope into a small, lonesome scavenger-- about the proper way to meditate.

“Rey?” He’s staring pensively at her by this point, brow furrowing. “I can sense your turmoil through the Force and--” gesturing towards her, “--you look like you’ve been through hell.”

Rey winces at this brutal observation. There’s no good way to discuss _those_ particular dreams but perhaps the non-lurid ones would be approachable. She fiddles with her half-full mug of caf. The deep, dark pool of liquid gently sloshes back and forth with her movements. She stares into the cup and wishes it could provide the answers she seeks so she wouldn’t have to voice her questions. She releases a breath and slumps over like a puppet being snipped from its strings. 

“Mister-- I mean, Master Skywalker,” she begins, chewing her bottom lip.

“Please, call me Luke.”

“Luke, what do you know about dreams?” she asks tentatively. 

Luke cocks his head at this. “Dreams,” he begins, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms into his robes. “Dreams can have many meanings. Usually, they’re just dreams--innocent things, and for the most part harmless. Other times--” he sighs at this. “The Force provides dreams that we can only hope to understand before it’s too late.”

“What about people?” Rey asks.

“What about people?”

“What if you’re dreaming of people?” Words spill forth from her lips before she can fully clarify her thoughts. “Like of their past and lives, and childhoods, and so forth? What does it mean then?”

“Are you having dreams of people’s lives, Rey?” he asks softly.

Silence.

He sighs. “Sometimes, connections between two Force-sensitive people can be enhanced by the presence of a Force bond.”

“I have no desire to be bonded to some monster,” Rey spits out vehemently, hackles rising at the implications of Luke's words.

“So you've formed a bond with Ben,” he notes offhandedly, stirring his own mug of caf. “I was wondering why I could sense his presence so clearly after so many years. “

“You knew and you said nothing,” she bites out, her mind frantically racing at this revelation. Can Luke merely feel the lingering presence of Kylo Ren in her head or does he-- _oh R’iia spare her--_ does he know the entirety of her dreams?

Luke looks somewhat sheepish at this accusation. “It’s not that I knew so much as I had a feeling through the Force.” He fiddles with his robes at this confession. “I felt a strong darkness surrounding you--”

“Kylo’s darkness is that strong?” Fear colours Rey’s voice at this admission. 

Luke shakes his head. “No,” he continues, “the darkness is mainly you.” 

Rey goes rigid at this statement.

“But, I'm not. I _can't_ be of the Dark Side. I can't…” Her voice trails off.

He reaches across the table to take her hand, consoling. “We all have darkness within us, Rey. Clawing at us. Goading us. But this is not a bad thing. We need darkness to recognize the light within us. Not all things that are of the Dark Side are necessarily evil.”

“But if the--” she swallows, “--darkness you sense is mine, what-- _how_ are you sensing Kylo?”

He has an odd sort of expression at this question, halfway between sadness and memory wrapped in an smile. “He's my nephew. No matter how many years it’s been since he was in my presence, I still recognize his signature in the Force.” He stares intently at Rey. “And I recognize his signature on others. For better or worse, the will of the Force has connected you two. Now it is up to us to determine how to best use it.”

“And how will I do that, Master?” The last word slips off her tongue much smoother than it has since her arrival.

Luke smiles. “We meditate of course.”

_CRASH!_

He winces and glances at the shattered plate that narrowly missed his head. Even without the Force, he can feel the waves of irritation emanating from the young woman in front of him. 

“Perhaps,” he says diplomatically, “we could practice some forms and _then_ meditate?”

\------------

All is calm again. For now.

She’s leaving the island.

Not forever, that much she knows for certain, but according to Luke, _“The Force often moves us in directions that are unclear until all is said and done,”_ and thus Rey is submitting herself to the will of the Force and going to some odd planet along the Outer Rim. 

“It’s a jungle planet. Very green. I feel that if nothing else it would be a change of scenery for a desert dweller such as yourself,” Luke remarks after their first training session, his breathing even and calm, a contrast to Rey’s heavily breathing frame lying on the ground. He helps her off of the ground, offering her a canteen. “It’s also strong in the Force--the Dark Side of the Force to be exact.” He gives a wry smile at this. “It was also one of the bases during the Galactic Civil War. If nothing else, there may be hints as to what Snoke is trying to accomplish.”

“Do you think the First Order is there?” she asks between long glugs of cold water. “Shouldn’t we take back-up?”

“You are going solely, and I _mean solely_ , to observe and determine what the Force wants.”

She remembers the last time the Force ‘spoke’ to her. The darkness, the flames, and the figures in black. She doesn’t know if wants to experience that again. “Maz Kanata once said the Force acts in mysterious ways.” She pins Luke with her stare. “How will I know for certain what the Force wants?”

He stares back--no, stares _through_ her. “One can never truly know the will of the Force; one can only do the best one can with the information before them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Concrit are greatly appreciated!


	5. The Beating Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’ll never get used to seeing so much green in one place.

She’ll never get used to seeing so much green in one place. Even the thick, heavy air _smells_ green and fresh and alive. Used to the harsh, dry, sand-filled air of Jakku, the swamp-like dampness makes Rey feel like she’s drowning. 

She’s stripped off her shirt--not due to heat but due to the persistent dampness that lingers _everywhere_ on Yavin IV--and has it wrapped about her waist, Luke’s old lightsaber nestled in its folds against her hip. Rey briefly considered stripping down to her basics but refrained. 

The Force is strong here. Old and strong. It’s _everywhere_ \--in the trees, the ground. There are even faint whispers of it swirling in the air. She’s starting to understand what Luke said about the Force being a living thing.

A living, _confusing_ thing. She’s been planetside for a good three hours and while her senses have been bombarded with the overwhelming presence of the Force as a whole on the planet, she still has _no idea_ why she’s here. 

_Maybe I should have mentioned_ all _of the dreams to Master Luke_ , she thinks distractedly while checking the holomap, programmed into the chrono given to her from Chewbacca for her location relative to her ship. She came to the planet by herself per Luke’s instructions. Instead of taking the _Falcon,_ Chewie came to Ahch-To with a small sleek black starfighter in tow. It’s an old ship, a holdover from a forgotten era, but underneath Rey’s hands it sings. She’s slowly becoming fond of it, as well as the small R6-series astromech droid that came with it. The aforementioned R6-V5 beeps questioningly through her comm link. 

“Yes, I‘m fine Arsix,” Rey mutters distractedly, scrolling through the holomap, desperately trying to find something out of the ordinary on this planet or vaguely resembling a potential sink hole for the Force. 

“Beep beep beeeeeep.”

“No, I’m not hungry Arsix.”

“Beep boop beeep beep.”

“I have plenty of water, Arsix,” she sighs and briefly wonders if this what having a mother would have been like.

“Boop?”

“I said, I’m fine, Arsix,” she says. “Why don’t you run diagnostics on the _Lykaios_? I think she was running a little slow when we hit atmo.” This isn’t completely true but the ship _is_ old, she reflects. It could probably do with a basic diagnostic check up. It will at least keep Arsix occupied for the time being, leaving Rey to focus at the issue at hand.

She approaches a clearing. The sun is stronger here, unobscured by the verdant covering that is ubiquitous on this planet. She would say it was peaceful here, but there’s something in the air. Some vague wave of maliciousness is bleeding through the Force here. Old and cruel. It’s far too sinister to be of the Light but it hasn’t quite fallen off the precipice into the embrace of the Dark Side. She orients herself towards the disturbance in the Force. Checking her holomap, she notes that the only thing of any potential significance _isn’t_ a Sith temple but instead an old bunker. Strange. 

She twists around towards the direction of the Sith temple noted on her holo-nav. 

Nothing. 

She turns back towards the source of the now malevolent roiling sensation in the Force. 

Definitely something. 

Maybe the map is wrong? It has been years.

Rey opens herself up to the Force. It’s odd letting herself be ridden by the Force, submitting herself and her will to a higher, unseen power. It’s calming and frightening all at once. The feeling is stronger this way now. The old bunker definitely has whatever the Force is guiding her towards. She just hopes it’s not leading her to her demise.

She alters the heading of the holomap and heads toward the old base.

\------------

Someone’s been here. Not in the, _oh once upon a time people were here_ _and this base was occupied_ but recently. The ground is tamped down, the surrounding flora crushed, and the base door panel spliced to allow access into the depths of the base.

_SHHH THUMP_

The door slides shut behind her, suddenly plunging her into darkness. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Rey mutters under her breath, adjusting the brightness of her chrono’s light so she doesn’t end up tripping over her feet. She’s never really been on a military base beyond her short stint on D’Qar before leaving to find Luke, but it seems that military bases, much like militaries themselves, have an odd sort of regularity in their designs. 

Long hallways. Lots of grey durasteel. Panels galore. Floor that causes even her soft boots to echo in the silence. 

_Rey._

She turns swiftly around. Nothing.

She sighs. The lack of sleep from the last few months must be getting to her. She’s starting to hear things in an abandoned base. 

_“Rey,”_ hisses from the surrounding darkness again. 

“ _Jeeeediiiiii.”_ Long yellowed nails slowly wrap themselves around the corner of the hallway. As if she’s bidden, Rey slowly walks closer. The jaundiced nails merge into pale gnarled fingers which disappear into heavy black sleeves. 

The creature’s eyes are yellow.

_Sith!_

Rey steps back frantically. She’s heard stories about this man, or monster, from Luke. About his powers and _his death_. He’s dead. He’s supposed to be dead! 

The Emperor laughs. It’s a horrid death rattle. “Has young Skywalker told you _nothing_ about the Force,” he drawls. His voice is like nails being dragged across rusted durasteel. 

“You’re dead. You’re nothing to me,” Rey bites out. 

“And you are nothing to everyone,” he hisses in response. 

She flinches at this but stands firm. “We are all the same in the presence of the Force,” she begins, trying to pulling on some of the teachings of the long dead Jedis' holocrons.

“And to your parents,” he slinks forward, darkness billowing in his wake. She shakes, continually walking backwards until she trips and falls across a hill of sand.

Sand?

Rey coughs, looking around at her surroundings. The base is gone: all that remains is endless swaths of sand-- _Jakku--_ and painfully familiar emptiness. 

_This isn’t real._

It can’t be real. But the she feels the grit on her palms, the sand in her throat, and the heat. Was this all a fever dream? Did she never truly leave Jakku? 

Cries echo across the sands. She tries to seek out where they’re coming from, but the wastelands of Jakku are so _vast_. She hears the _whirr_ of engines. Above her a small freighter is leaving the planet. 

She’s seen that ship before. Years ago.

Rey knows whose cries she’s hearing. She starts walking to the source.

The scene she comes across is at once familiar and strange. She recognizes the small girl. It’s a face she hasn’t seen in a long time, still retaining the baby fat that Jakku would soon cruelly burn away, but her accompaniment is not the blob-like junkyard master that had been the bane of her existence. Instead it’s a young boy walking down the awkward path that is puberty. A boy that she’s only seen in dreams. _Kylo Ren._

_Ben Solo._

He’s on his knees in front of her small, frailer self. The younger Rey is no longer projecting long, painful cries, but rather soft sobbing and quiet full body shakes, which are arguably more heart-rending.

“ _They left me,”_ she feels through the sand.

“ _Shhhhh, I know,”_ the boy replies with a gentleness that months ago she would have not thought possible. He’s wiping tears away with a small cloth.

“ _No one, will ever stay f-f-f-for me,”_ small Rey chokes out.

“ _Shhhh, that’s not true. You’ll grow up to be strong and powerful,”_ he replies.

“I never wanted that _,”_ Rey whispers quietly. The boy turns at that. Maybe it wasn’t so quiet after all.

He stands and walks towards Rey. Young Kylo--she’s tried and tried and tried but she can’t separate the Ben Solo of her odd dream-visions from the Kylo Ren of her present--walks to her. He has an odd gait much like a young guarlara still trying to get used to its mismatched limbs. She’d put him at maybe fifteen or sixteen years of age; on the cusp of manhood, but still a child in most ways. He’s only just taller than her, he hasn’t yet reached his full imposing height and frame at this stage. He’s so gangly and awkward and utterly unmenacing; if this was any other situation, she’d be laughing over the fact that the man that has been infesting her dreams was such an ungainly child at some point. Instead of mirth, she’s wary.

But his eyes? 

His eyes are the same. 

“ _We don’t want a lot of things in life,”_ he says sadly. An odd air of melancholy infuses his voice, making him sound far, far older than the years that she sees on his face. 

“Just like you didn’t want to kill Han Solo?” she lashes out. “Your own father?!”

He flinches as if her words physically struck him. She would almost say he looked ashamed, if she thought he was capable of such a feeling. 

“ _I still suffer for it,”_ he rasps, his voice permeating the landscape around them. 

“Do you truly think I’m going to believe that _bantha fodder_?” she bites back.

He grasps her hand tightly at this and places it upon his chest. 

“What _are_ you doing?” she snaps, desperately trying to free her hand from his iron grip. “Let go of me!”

He leans forward, his forehead brushing against hers. “ _Feel my heart, Rey,”_ he whispers into her ear. “ _It’s bleeding in your hand.”_

He steps back. The Kylo Ren of _now_ stands before her. 

With a gaping, oozing chest wound.

She looks down. Lying in the palm of her hand is a still pumping heart, almost fighting to get out her hand. _Thump, thump, thump._ It’s warm, blood oozing from the arteries slowly but surely staining her forearm rich, dark red with each beat.

She brings the heart closer to her face. It smells like long rusted durasteel and despair.

_“Take it, scavenger.”_ His voice is faint now. 

She squeezes, nails digging into the muscle.

The heart freezes mid-beat and goes stiff.

It melts. 

No, that’s not quite right. It’s breaking into infinitesimal pieces, flowing through her fingers to the sand below, much like the man in front of her. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Rey thinks bitterly. Even her visions turn to sand. 

It’s rising now. The sand. Flowing at an increasing pace with her at the center. It’s winding up to her knees. She always knew her death would come in sand. 

A roar echoes across the sand. It doesn’t have the same broad echoing quality that a yell has in vast open space. It seems closer, as if the sound waves are ricocheting in a confined room. The ground shifts and blurs beneath her boots.

More yelling. She feels rage and anguish, not only in the voice but also through the Force.

She’s sinking.

Falling.

She wakes on the cold metal grating of the base’s floor. 

The metal stings the exposed bare flesh of her abdomen and arms. She doesn’t know how long she’s been out. She’s starting to hate the Force.

The yelling in the distance continues. Either she’s still in some Force forsaken dream, or-- 

The waves of rage. The anger. The _despair._ She recognizes that feeling of despair, the rage. She’s felt it before. 

She’s felt _him before_.

He’s here. Kylo Ren is here. This is his fault. 

She just knows it.

She scrambles to her feet, making sure the saber is still within reach. 

Rey begins to hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMM I WONDER IF THEY'LL MEET NEXT CHAPTER~~  
> Comment/concrit/feedback are amazing and feel free to hit me up on tumblr at mnemehoshiko!


	6. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wolf finds their prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE HALFWAY THERE YOU GUYS!!! Thank you all for the amazingly kind comments last chapter. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

For once the Force is in her favor--Kylo Ren is surprisingly easy to find. The bellowing and waves of rage may have helped a bit. 

He’s managed to find a command center-like room, circular with a control panel in the core. His saber is on and crackling erratically. Not for the first time she wonders if he risks losing a hand every time he swings.

His reach is long, his swings wide. She can feel the Force around him being molded into his will as he swings. It’s odd that the preferred form of yesteryear’s diplomats is the preferred style of a man who has such a tenuous grasp on his own emotions.

He’s breathing heavily. His moves dance on the precipice of sloppy and liquid smooth, rich in violence. His torment is echoing in the Force. He’s confused. Stressed. Scared.

Rey fights dirtily, not out of preference but of necessity. A scavenger doesn’t care about the integrity of the battle or the honor of their opponent. The goal is either survival or conquest. Rey is a survivor. Kylo? Conquest.

She strikes.

He blocks. Barely. He looks as if he’s woken from a nightmare but is unaware whether he’s truly awake. She senses his confusion, his shock, and an odd sense of loss. She shakes it off. His problems are of his own making. She puts up her own mental blocks and attacks.

There is an art to dealing with larger opponents. Compensating for longer reach, wider range, and sheer strength her lean, wiry body cannot match. Rey’s learned how to adapt accordingly. Where Kylo favors wide, sweeping motions, she parries with tight controlled strikes. Instead opposing his movements, she tries to complement them--a bastardized attempt at the third form with a weapon she’s still far from comfortable with. 

Still, for all intents and purposes, she seems to be winning. She’s managed to catch him off guard and exhausted. He’s swathed in his customary black garb, breathing heavily. He looks lost and unfocused, a far cry from the single-mindedness of their last encounter. 

Rey presses her advantage. Slowly but surely, she forces him through the narrow hallway with her parries. He’s getting sloppy. If she cared in any way for his well-being, she would say it was worrisome. He Force-shoves her back, finally starting to fight back instead of merely reacting with sleepy-stilted limbs.

“Get out of my head,” he hisses and clenches a fist to draw upon the Force surrounding them. The durasteel support beams above begin to creak. Rey begins to worry. The bunker is sturdy but it is old. She tries to shove him away with the Force. He flinches slightly but remains unphased. Fine then--dirty it is. She kicks him sharply in the groin. He stumbles back at this, clenching his teeth in pain, his gloved hand still tightly gripping his patchwork saber. He stares at her as if he’s just seeing her the first time. Awe. Shock. Confusion.

“Get out of mine,” she bites back, throwing months of sleepless nights back at him through their bond. He stumbles at this in confusion and sways under the weight of fatigue and restlessness forced upon him. 

This is where it goes wrong.

She’s a strong and fierce fighter. But the saber is still a foreign weapon in her hands in spite of her connection with the Force. Kylo has at least ten years of training on her, compared to her paltry few months. And he’s just as capable of fighting dirty. She swings, throwing her weight into it. He turns off his saber. She panics. In spite of all the agony he has caused, there’s a small part of her that remembers the small boy staring into space, haunted by his own thoughts. She pivots, narrowly avoiding giving a Kylo another memorable scar and instead slashing through one of the support beams instead. 

_CREAK._

They both freeze and stare warily at each other. Mutually coming to an uneasy truce, Rey quickly slides her fingers across the activator button of her saber.

Nothing.

Then suddenly a “look out!” and a long metallic groaning echo through the hallway.

Darkness.

\------------

Rey opens her eyes to blackness. She’s propped up against something solid yet uneven. She feels the dust and smells the ozone settling thickly around her along with the sweat and musk that have been invading her dreams. The blackness shifts above her. A hand at her hip grasps her tightly. It feels familiar, like a dream. A voice is husky in her ear. “Stay still; it’s still unstable.” His breath is warm.

She stiffens her hands, clenching the rough yet soft fabric in her hands.

“And whose fault is that?” she sends through the Force.

Silence. 

She wriggles. He grasps tighter in response. “Stay still,” he replies. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she bites back, attempting to gain some leverage. She triumphantly manages to free an arm, only to have it promptly pinned to the durasteel wall of the bunker. She can feel Kylo’s chest pressing against hers and his thigh wedged between her legs. It’s disturbingly intimate and, worse, familiar. 

“Let _go_ of me.”

“I said to stay still.” His gloved hands tighten on her wrist and hip. He leans his face down next to hers. “Can’t you feel it?” he murmurs softly.

Seriously? Rey is less than impressed. She shifts, slowly straightening her spine and driving her hips into his. Oh. Well, maybe slightly impressed. She lies.

“Not really, but maybe so much immersion in the Dark Side has masked your better qualities,” she replies, desperately trying to ignore the stiffness pressing into her between them. She smooths her palms against the broad clothed planes of his chest.

He tilts his head and blinks.

Rey then has the delightful opportunity of seeing how quickly his face goes from composed to utterly mortified. She was unaware that humans could turn that shade of red without overexposure to the sun.

“I--uh--no,” he sputters suddenly, realizing the implications of their position. He takes a half-step back, releasing her as if burned. “Force, I-- _that’s not what I meant!”_

“Oh?” she asks lifting a brow.

“ _I asked, if you could feel it,”_ he says with his full mouth close-lipped, pulling on the Force.

_“Get out of my head.”_

_“Honestly, for someone so strong in the Force, you’re amazingly blind to your surroundings.”_

_“You’re the only one here--”_

Rey stills. She thought it _was_ just them in the bunker along with a few old ghosts conjured up by the Force, but the sensation of the Force here is unmistakably _odd_. Less omniscient and coherent, more animalistic. Primal. Strange.

She looks at Kylo. The ruddiness of his face is receding, lingering only about his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose and intermixing with the random moles that dot his face. The waves of embarrassment she senses due to what she would argue was an _honest_ misunderstanding have mostly left, replaced with a vague wariness. 

“ _Can you feel it?”_ he asks again, his eyes pensively searching the dim hallways for _something_.

“ _Vaguely,”_ she replies. It’s getting stronger now, like a thick, dark miasma for the senses. It’s heavy and dense and coming closer. 

Kylo grabs her, enveloping her wrist with his hand. “We need to move now,” he states, this time out loud, pulling her towards what is hopefully an exit. 

“Let _go_ of--” 

He snaps at this. “Unless you desire being trapped inside your head, feel free to stay. Otherwise, _move_.” 

A roar echoes in the distance.

Rey slips her hand out his and begins to run. She hears his boots pounding the grating after hers. 

_“Do you even know where you’re going?”_

_“Do you?”_

Waves of sulleness emanate behind her. Good, she thinks. She’s already had enough stress time with him rolling around in her head. Let him suffer a bit.

“ _I heard that.”_

She rolls her eyes, finally recognizing some of the structure’s walls. “This way,” she shouts back, heading towards the exit. 

They stumble outside, gasping for breath. They stare at each other in relief, hearts pounding.

A faint chime-like hiss leaves the bunker, followed by flimsy bits of floating silk at which Rey stares questioningly. She moves in to get a closer look, only for Kylo to snatch her away. 

“Mmfff--!” His arms envelop her slender frame and his gloved hand covers her mouth. She’s getting sick of this. She attempts to aim towards his foot. He shifts, pulling her tightly towards himself.

“Unless, you’re interested in being paralyzed for the next few hours, I would suggest not approaching them,” he murmurs lowly, slowly backing both of them away from the bunker and pushing her face-first into a tree. “Those are crowns of silk, and Force-sensitives are their prey of choice.” 

They watch the small, graceful creatures drift away from their surroundings. They breathe softly and low, almost synchronized as they wait. Finally, the procession ends. 

And then reality sets back in for Rey. As debatably pleasant as it is to be held by the object of your Force-induced delusions--she refuses to say dreams--there are too many disturbing connotations and confusing emotions lying in that direction. She needs more space between his body and hers. She bites down.

He yelps.

“ _What the kriffing hell--”_

She wriggles out of his clutches as he cradles his hand, stripping off his glove in the process. “I told you to let go of me,” she mutters. 

“You _bit_ me,” he replies irritatedly. “I know you’re a scavenger, but I didn’t think that meant _feral_.”

He holds his hand to the light, trying to determine the extent of the damage.

“It’s barely a scratch, _Ben._ ”

He stiffens at that, eyes narrowing. “Ben Solo is dead; both you and Skywalker should understand that by now.” He comes to his full height, looming over her. “You should leave. Those creatures are gone for now, but they’ll be back.”

“Why _are_ you here?” she continues, ignoring his previous statements. 

“I could ask you the same.”

“I asked first.”

“I saved your miserable life,” he growls.

“And I didn’t kill you when I had the chance,” she snarls, hackles rising.

“ _Fine,_ don’t answer!” He starts to storm off into the jungle. 

“Do you even know where you’re going, Kylo?” she yells after the rapidly receding dark figure.

The dark figure stills for a moment then keeps going.

A small part of Rey thinks she heard the wind mournfully say “ _No.”_


	7. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debriefing and regrouping time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for taking the time to read!!

There’s still a scar. It’s thin, pale, and slightly raised, almost gracefully follows the curve of her ribs, Rey notes in the ‘fresher’s mirror. It’s a reminder. A reminder that she still needs more training. A reminder of her own mortality. _And that he’s left his mark on her as much as she’s left a mark on him_. Rey pulls on her shirt; she doesn’t have time for such thoughts.

She’s back on the resistance base on D’Qar, this time with the General’s brother. She had once heard the phrase _“they looked at each other as if they were their last hope and salvation”_ used in a tale told by the old beggars on Jakku, but she never understood until she saw the look that General Organa gave Luke when she saw him disembark from the _Millennium Falcon._ Leia’s face was composed, but the Force surrounding her was a mix of sorrow and _biting rage_ , interspersed with thin shards of hope. Rey had to pull herself away; it felt almost as if she was intruding.

Rey meets with the General shortly afterwards. The meeting is short, but not perfunctory as she had expected. She had heard veterans of the Rebellion describe Luke and the General as the sun and the moon, respectively. She was confused by that description at first; the moon had always meant night on Jakku, desperately trying to stay warm in her cold home. She asked Poe about it when she came to see BB-8 on base. 

“You’ve never been around much water, have you,” he mutters distractedly while calibrating his X-wing. According to Finn, he’s been assigned to even more reconnaissance missions since the destruction of Starkiller.

“Jakku _is_ a desert planet,” she replies dryly. 

Poe lets out a bark of laughter at that. “That it is, a desert and deserted.” He sighs and glances down at Rey. “You’ve see the ocean on Ahch-To, right? The way it moves and shifts?” 

She nods.

“So you’ve seen the tides, right?” 

“Yes, it’s where the water rises,” she responds. She still remembers the first time she got stuck in tides on Ahch-To. The rising water. Frantically, trying to reach high ground in the caverns. Wondering if her destined grave was no longer a bed of sand with the sun bleaching her bones like she feared in childhood, but rather to be drawn underneath the waves into darkness. The waves finally receded after a few hours. “It goes up for a bit and then down, yes?”

“Yep, and the moon determines when it happens,” he murmurs softly, staring at the contingent of senior Resistance officers walking in the distance. He turns back to Rey again. “General Organa draws us all in, and we rise and fall with her.”

During her debriefing with the General, she wonders if that _draw_ is due to the Force or if it’s due to her uncanny ability to draw out _almost_ every last detail of Rey’s encounter with Kylo Ren. 

“And he just left?” The General leans forward, her eyes-- _he has her eyes_ \-- piercing.

“Yes, General,” she replies.

“Was there any sign of the First Order in the vicinity of Yavin IV?”

“No, General. Arsix was scanning for all possible First Order transmissions. They found nothing.”

“Did _you_ sense anything from him?” Leia asks. Rey stills. What does she mean by that? “Luke mentioned that there seems to be some sort of,” the General’s brow furrows at this. “Connection? Between the two of you?”

“He told you,” she remarks bitterly. 

“That you are in some kind of Force bond with an enemy combatant, yes.” Rey winces at Leia’s statement. “But, given that…” the General pauses briefly. “Kylo Ren has not attempted to extract Luke from Ahch-To, nor has the First Order initiated any act of aggression against this base, we have decided to proceed with caution for the time being.”

“He looked lost,” she blurts out suddenly. Leia looks at Rey, her face giving away nothing but a sort of brittleness in her presence in the force. “I don’t know where he’s gone but I-- he feels different. I don’t think his aim is the Resistance. I don’t think he even knows what his aim is anymore.” 

“Is that all?”

Rey sinks down into her seat. “Yes, General.”

Leia leans back. She looks tired. Worn. 

“Very well, you’re dismissed. I know there are people you’re wanting to see and they you,” she says, briskly waving Rey out of her office. “And Rey?”

“Yes, General?”

“May the Force be with you. Both of you.”

\------------

Finn’s improving. Dr. Kalonia claims he’s _the worst patient she’s ever had the opportunity of treating_ (Poe mutters under his breath to Rey that she only says that about her favorites) but in spite of this, his therapy is coming along smoothly, with only a few minor setbacks.

“Is that _durasteel??_ ” she asks during one of his physical therapy sessions. Finn blinks and twists to glance down at his shoulder. His arm is there--still in one piece, _thank R'iia_ \--but instead of continuous smooth brown skin, it’s interrupted with bits of polished durasteel fluidly following the lines of his musculature. 

“It’s to deal with the nerve damage,” he states with a wan face, rolling aforementioned arm. “It’s also stopping my existing muscle from atrophying from lack of use. But enough about me. How are you, Rey?” 

“I’m fine.”

“You went off to find a long lost mythical space hobo--”

“He’s not a space _hobo_ ,” she begins, trying to defend her…her… She has no idea what Luke is to her or she to him. Teacher feels too formal and implies a more active role in her studies of...whatever this power she has is. Mentor seems a little closer, but still not quite accurate. Mentors advise. Luke Skywalker just sits pensively and occasionally relinquishes small drops of knowledge and lore regarding the Force. She’d be more successful in getting a fair amount of portions from Unkar Plutt. But she can’t really blame him--she’s probably the first student he’s had in a long time, and his teaching record was already somewhat _less than stellar_ given his last student was--

“Rey?” A hand is waved in front of her face. 

“You, the mythical galactic power that encompasses us all, and Luke, teacher of one of the First Order’s main enforcers?” he continues, smirking slightly. “Usually, it’s the infirm like myself--”

“You’re giving Dr. Kalonia grief everyday, according to Poe and BB-8.”

“Dr. Kalonia is gifted with my stellar presence everyday. I, on the other hand, am stuck in limbo between therapy and thrilling debriefings on my exciting career as a stormtrooper,” he remarks dryly. It doesn’t escape Rey’s notice that he’s rolling his shoulder as if trying to get kinks out. 

“Oh,” he continues, “and we can’t forget the scintillating surroundings. The med-droids, the wide variety of tubes--”

“ _Finn_.”

“ _Rey,”_ he shoots back and then softens, noting Rey’s concern. “I’m...not fine but I’m getting better. And you know what would make me feel even better?” 

“Knowing where you came from?”

He pauses, and the light in his eyes dims somewhat. It reminds her of when they met on Jakku. Alone. Scared. He shakes himself as if he’s discarding ghosts of his past. “I want to try for things I can actually get in the near future. And you know what _that_ would be?” he says, gesturing at Rey to come closer.

Rey perks up at this, eyes bright and ready for anything, and leans forward.

“Hearing _everything_ you can tell me about the legendary Luke Skywalker.”

Rey grabs a pillow and smacks him in the face.

“Oww, injured party here!” he mumbles under the pillow.

“I sent you holos about it already!”

“But it’s not the _same,”_ he whines, dramatically flopping back onto the remaining pillows and pouting. 

“It’s just going to be a rehash of what I told you in the holos,” she grumbles, shifting to get comfortable. If she’s going to be stuck here telling stories for the rest of the day, she’d rather her legs not fall asleep in the middle of it. “Nothing terribly exciting about mediation.”

“You’re being trained by the last known Jedi in the galaxy,” he notes with a wistful sigh. “That’s plenty exciting.”

She bites back her gripes and breathes. “Well, supposedly the old Jedis had these things called _holocrons_ \--”

\------------

“And evidently they come in different colors? Not just blue or red?” she says as Finn holds the saber, rotating it in his hands. It should feel odd seeing someone other than Luke or herself holding it. But seeing it in Finn’s steady hands, it’s almost like the saber has found a home. She’s not resentful, but it hurts in a strange sort of way. It’s an inanimate object. Merely a collection of metal and circuits with an odd crystal added into the mix. Rey’s life has been shaped by her mutual understanding of machines. Now, though, this saber defies the one constant in her life. She doesn’t know how exactly to take it. 

Finn pulls her out of her musings.

“How does it handle?” he asks, still inspecting it closely. 

“What do you mean?” She cocks her head at this. She heard from Chewie that he used it during the invasion on Takodana, so obviously he has some experience using it.

“Like, how do you like using it,” he says, still fiddling with it. “It’s pretty different from that quarterstaff you used on Jakku to knock me on my ass,” he notes wryly.

“Did I mention I’m sorry about that?”

“No, but it’s appreciated,” he mutters offhandedly, attention still fixed on the energy cells interspersed along the emitter matrix in the hilt. Honestly, she should have just handed it over to him when she came to visit. It would have saved her from re-hashing the last few months. 

“Have you used it recently?” he asks. She stills. 

“Why do you ask?”

“There’s some burn marks scattered along the casing,” he notes frowning slightly. “I know you’ve been sparring--”

“Only once to be completely honest.”

He continues, ignoring Rey’s interruption. “But this seems like you got into a bad fight or something? It’s like it got hit with a bunch of sparks.”

Silence.

“ _Rey,”_ he begins. “What _aren’t_ you telling--” he straightens, spine stiffening. “Someone’s coming,” he murmurs softly. In an instant, his normal easy demeanor is gone, fluidly replaced by a cold, hard sheet of ice. Even his impression in the Force seems frozen.

Smooth. Frigid. Flat. 

Perhaps part of Stormtrooper training is that ability to mask yourself within the Force? She senses a presence now as well; a feeling she has become familiar with over the past few months.

“Relax,” she says, in spite of Finn doing very much the opposite. “It’s just Luke.”

The aforementioned individual stands in the open doorway. 

“May I come in?” he asks, aiming the query in Finn’s direction. 

Finn uncoils slightly. “You’re the General’s brother,” Finn states, the drollness of his tone belying the wariness in his eyes. “I’m fairly certain permission is the last thing you need.”

“Perhaps, but courtesy is a basic respect that can be extended to all,” Luke replies calmly.

Finn sighs, settling back into the pillows. He must be exhausted after dealing with her for so long, Rey thinks guiltily. “Then please, make yourself at home,” he says, waving distractedly at the rest of the room.

Luke slowly enters the room, his eyes scanning the small room in a seemingly absent minded way. Watching him, Rey finds herself acutely aware of the small table by the head of the bed that’s sparsely covered with a few flimsi (courtesy of Poe) and small smooth stones (courtesy of Rey), the steady beeping of the med-droids keeping track of their patient’s vitals, the dull scent of antiseptic that pervades the room. She straightens up slightly as he finally settles upon Rey and Finn.

“My old master once told me that ‘ _A Jedi’s weapon is their life’_ ,” he muses, pulling a chair across the floor with the Force. He sits, elbows resting on his knees.

“It seems that may have been the downfall of the Jedi,” Finn mutters, finally setting the saber down on his blanket covered lap. “More faith in weapons than in people.”

“ _Finn,”_ Rey hisses. She has no idea what’s brought this on, but the last thing Finn needs to do is make an enemy of the General’s brother.

“No,” Luke sighs, almost staring into the distance. “One could argue that he has a point, in all honesty. So many records from that time period have been lost. What I’ve managed to find is only a meager fraction of the history from that time. Between that and the Clone Wars, who knows what the priorities of the Jedi were back then.” 

“Might’ve helped if the Jedi had little more variety in their weapons, y’know, considering how critical they were.”

Rey can feel the beginnings of a migraine from behind the center of her skull. This is not how she expected this meeting to go. At all.

“Master Sky--,” she begins.

“Hmm, what do you mean by that?” He faces Finn at this, his eyes intently focused. He frowns as if Finn’s a puzzle he can’t crack...or read. Maybe it’s because Finn is the farthest thing from weak minded.

Finn matches his stare. “If all the Jedi were forced to fight with the same weapons, then their fighting styles would have been easy to predict and learn. That kind of training is sloppy and ill-considered.” He pauses at this, as if suddenly realizing _where_ he is and to _whom exactly he’s talking to_. “... at least that’s my opinion, Master Jedi,” he trails off awkwardly.

“You’re completely right.” Finn blinks at this, while Luke continues. “While there are a wide range of fighting styles, the Jedi of old did not restrict themselves to a single saber design. There exists a myriad of constructions for the hilt, as well as for the weapon itself.”

“Like a staff?” Rey interrupts. She’s been _slowly_ getting better with the saber, adjusting her stances and movements to compensate for the resistance of the loops of plasma emitted from the saber, but it still feels foreign in her hands. 

The Jedi master turns to her. “Yes, like a staff. A saberstaff, to be exact.” He hands Rey a small datapad at this pronouncement. She takes it, quickly flipping through the screens.

“Are these all saber designs?” she breathes excitedly. Her mind races at the various designs and how to potentially construct them. 

“Yes, they are.” He’s smiling almost fondly now. “I met with an acquaintance while you were on Yavin IV. They provided me with a few artifacts, including some schematics. I felt you would be interested.”

Rey listens with only half an ear, mind already compiling the materials she’ll need to build her own weapon. “Where on earth would I find kyber crystals?” she murmurs under her breath, scanning the various options at her fingertips. She’s fairly certain she can convince Poe to give her access to the Resistance’s armory for a few scraps. Rey’s done much more with far less while on Jakku. But kyber crystals are something outside her of her extensive scavenging experience. Maybe she can use the ones resting in the current saber? Rey’s scavenged so many things over the course of her life with impunity, but taking apart a lightsaber feels strangely like sacrilege.

“Ilum,” both men answer at this, same intonation and everything, almost in sync. Luke frowns at this and stares at Finn. 

“Yes, Ilum,” he repeats, slowly. He looks like he’s going to say something else but refrains, turning back towards Rey. “It’s where the old Jedi Order sent initiates as part of their training. Consequently, you might want to get some layers from the quartermaster. It’s a little cold there.”

Rey stands, grabbing her things. “Are you coming along as well?” she asks, heading towards the busy corridors.

Luke leans back in his seat, stroking his beard reflectively whilst staring at Finn. “I think I may stay a little longer. I’ve been gone for a long time.” He smiles at Rey. “I have full faith in your abilities, and the only things you’ll have to deal with is ice and snow. Nothing to worry about at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments/concrit/feedback is greatly appreciated!!


	8. Bloodstained Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold kills and cleanses.

“The girl isn’t here,” the Supreme Leader states, his hands resting on the arms of his throne-like seat. The fingers of his left hand tap almost absentmindedly against the edge of the seat. “I presume she managed to escape.” It’s not a question. Snoke rarely asks questions. It’s a statement; an infallible truth. In some ways, a conviction of the actions of Kylo Ren. 

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Kylo murmurs deferentially as he stands barefaced in the cavernous room. There is very little he _can_ say. She was there on Yavin IV. He was in her presence for _pfassk_ sake. And yet, there is nothing show for it. (Beyond the slowly fading lines that ring the crook of his collarbone and a still healing lip that echoes with her touch. But those are desires he dares not speak.) “She has become strong in the Force.”

“I sent you on your mission to that planet to become stronger in the Force, Kylo Ren.”

Kylo flinches at this pronouncement. Snoke continues. “The Dark Side has been strong on that planet for many, _many_ years. In spite of the fact that the Sith lords of old have faded into the mists of time, there is still a distinct lingering presence upon that planet. And yet—” he waves a long gnarled hand in Kylo’s direction “—I see no signs of their presence upon you. No artifacts, no tools, no holocrons, _nothing._ Instead, that _girl’s_ presence is like a sickening light trying to blot out the darkness you’ve cultivated within yourself.”

“Supreme Leader--”

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke interjects sharply. He sits back, his posture shifting from authoritative to something bordering on paternal. An avenue Kylo Ren has forever closed due to his own sins. “You have suffered so, so much as Master of the Knights of Ren,” he croons softly. 

_And caused others, so much suffering as well_ , Kylo reflects bitterly. 

“Far more than any other master has experienced,” Snoke continues.

“Lord Snoke, I apologize in my failure to acquire the girl,” Kylo says. “It will not happen again.”

“I have full faith in you, Lord Ren, that it will not happen again.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader--,” Kylo begins.

“Because, unlike the Sith Lords of old, I do not believe in throwing away apprentices when they are challenged,” Snoke remarks offhandedly. “Nor do I have any need for another apprentice when I have one I have already devoted so much time and effort upon. Thus, you will kill the girl.”

Kylo freezes at this. He hurriedly attempts to erase the shock and utter horror from his face. His face has always been a considerable flaw of his.

“Supreme Leader,” he begins, his mind racing. “While she continues to grow strong in the Force, she is still raw and untrained and--” 

“Has managed to both best as well as distract you from your path,” Snoke interjects. He steeples his fingers, now leaning forward. His collapsed visage projects a vague sense of disapproval regarding the lack of closure between Kylo and Skywalker’s apprentice. 

Kylo tries again. “Supreme Leader, I beg of you. A power like hers would serve your cause well. If seduced, she would be a powerful…” He trails off at this, swallowing. “Tool. She would be a powerful and loyal tool.” He’s staring at his gloved hands by the end of his plea. A long gut-clenching silence fills the chamber.

“My cause? Odd. I was under the impression that my cause was _your_ cause as well, Kylo Ren,” Snoke hisses. His presence in the Force slowly becomes more oppressive within chamber. Kylo feels his breath pressed out of his lungs and is forced to his knees. “Or has your compassion for her blinded you to your path?” he muses. 

“Your will is my will, Supreme Leader.” Kylo swallows. He can feel Snoke probing through his thoughts and does his best to breathe through the ensuing pain caused by each brush through the Force. After experiencing this sensation for _years_ , he thought he would grow used to this invasion of his mind. Instead, each time is fresh torture. “I merely wished to be of service to your will,” he grits out through the pain. 

“And you believe that this ragged, uncouth, _vicious_ creature will assist us in our cause,” Snoke replies, amused. He utters a dry hiss of laughter. It reminds Kylo of a slowly deflating gasket. “Very well, young Ren. I will grant you a final opportunity to seduce Skywalker’s apprentice to our cause. If you are unsuccessful though, Ren--” He pauses.

“Yes, Supreme Leader?” Kylo asks after a long dead silence has run its way through the chambers.

“Kill her.”

\------------

Ilum is cold and barren. Ben Solo had never been to Ilum. Kylo Ren has not either. 

He _knows_ of Ilum, from when he was younger, weaker, innocent. _Clean._ He remembers mining holocrons for hours upon hours with Skywalker, piecing together long lost lore about Jedi long dead. In a way, he reflects as he treks through the ice and snow, his time with Skywalker was very much the blind leading the blind. _He was doing his best_ , howls the winds of the past. _His best wasn’t good enough_ , he bites back. _But neither was I._

The sun is deceptively bright in spite of the cold. He’s on Ilum on a piece of intelligence from one of his Knights. A woman was seen taking a transport to the edge of the Unknown Regions. They noted that she was tall and tanned with a staff strapped to her back, and a long cylindrical tube clipped to their hip. When someone attempted to steal from her, she cracked their head in, the Knight stated. Vicious scavenger, he remarks, amused. 

There’s only one reason for Skywalker to send the scav--no, _Rey_ \-- it’s a bit odd to refer to the woman you’ve been having intimate visions of carnal nature by a moniker and by now, it’s a moot point to continue to refer to her as _the scavenger_ , she has a name. It’s Rey. One syllable. Vicious. Deadly. Strong. Skywalker has probably noticed that strength and the raw potential in it. Has he decided to harness it, stifling it in platitudes from the past or has he learned from his last student, Kylo wonders. Either way, there is only one reason for Rey, or any Force user, to be on Ilum. Kyber crystals.

She’s probably off to construct her own saber. He unconsciously touches his own as he enters the Crystal Caves. He remembers his--Skywalker. _Skywalker_ telling him of the caverns, and how the Jedi of old held ceremonies for their younger initiates upon the construction of their lightsabers. How one day, _Ben_ would go through that same ceremony. _“We’ll be the first ones of a new era, Ben. One day.”_ That day would never come now. 

He collapses.

Not due to slipping on the the ice ridden terrain, but due to _pain_. Someone’s suffering. _Rey’s suffering._ He can feel the blood dripping down along on her ribs. The leg, partially twisted but still attached and the nerves aflame. His breath struggles between the reality of his own intact lungs and the feeling of her blood filled ones. She must have been attacked. 

She’s alone. 

That he can sense. No Skywalker lingering in the background. Just the two of them. _Either convince her to join us or kill her_. The words from the chambers echo in his ears. In spite of his pleas to the Supreme Leader, they both know she would rather die than join him. He would _rather_ she die than bind herself in servitude to Snoke. She’s wild and vicious and doesn’t deserve to be chained to the darkness that he has so desperately tried to embrace. He should leave. If the blood loss doesn’t take her, the desert wolf will succumb to the cold. 

It’s a cruel death, but kinder than chains.

\------------

Kylo Ren is a fool.

_I’m coming._

He finds her deep in the caves. The Force is strong here. For a brief moment, Kylo wonders whether the strength is caused by the crystals, or the crystals grow because of its strength, before he discards the thought. It doesn’t matter. 

There’s some creature lying in one of the corners of a small alcove. It’s dead. Fairly recent, given how the blood from its wounds seems to have just started clotting. On the other side of the enclosure is the scavenger. She at least came dressed appropriately for the environs here, compared to the last time they were surrounded by ice and snow. Unlike the last time he saw her, there’s precious little exposed skin beyond her face and the long clawlike gouge on her side. Her clothing is dark although whether due to its innate coloring or her blood, he can’t tell. Her eyes are closed but she’s still breathing. He can’t tell for how much longer. He moves closer.

“I know you’re there,” she rasps, struggling to sit up, her eyes fluttering.

“You’re wasting your strength talking,” he says, chiding as he kneels between her outstretched legs. She’s pale beneath her desert tan, her lips chapped from the cold winds ubiquitous on Ilum. He scans the rest of her frame. The wound looks fatal. “Any particular reason you’re on a ice ridden hell instead of studying old Jedi platitudes with Skywalker?” 

“It’s none of your concern.”

“It is when I can hear you rattling around in my head,” he mutters. 

“Oh, so you can’t handle a little pain but—” she coughs, ruby drops starting to drip down her lips “—but, you feel free to plague me with your licentious thoughts—what are you doing?!” 

“You need more pressure on that wound beyond your hand and I can’t see with all that blood,” he replies nonchalantly, stripping off his cloak and balling it in his hands.

Rey stares at him. “We both know this is fatal.”

_Let her die. She’ll never join you. Let her die free and unchained from your demons._

He makes a choice. It’s been made for years, if he were honest with himself. He refrains from being honest with himself.

He strips off his gloves and asks, “What has Skywalker taught you about healing and the Force?”

\------------

It’s hard. Force healing requires patience. Calm. Meditation. None of these had been Ben Solo’s strengths, nor are they Kylo’s. Furthermore, he’s only actually performed it on himself, never on another person. On yourself, you just _know_ where the damage is, what hurts and where to heal. On another person, it’s guesswork. On someone who you have an awkward and intimate connection with through the Force, it’s less guesswork but more _trust._

_Let me in_ , he asks slowly pressing his fingers along the edge of Rey’s wound. 

She hisses.

_Odd, the holos always said dinner or at least a drink was standard before letting someone in._

He flushes. 

_I’ve never done this with someone else before,_ he remarks. He actively tries to bury stray thoughts regarding how well that statement applies to other areas in his life. Rey’s eyes widen.

_But you’re--_

_Old. Yes, I know. Going about the galaxy with your relatives searching dusty old holocrons regarding a long thought defunct mystical order is wonderful for your social life._ He can feel his ears warm. Wonderful.

_You’re not that old. Much. In this light, your white hairs almost blend in with the scenery._ She starts coughing. Each cough wracks her slim, fur covered frame, releasing yet more blood. 

_Can you just let me in? Please. I don’t want you to die_. He already has enough blood on his hands. He selfishly wishes that she doesn’t add to it.

_You really mean it,_ she remarks with wonder. She grimaces. _Just this once and no rummaging around for anything else. I mean it!_

_I’ll do the best that I can. I promise._

_Fine_ , she replies and then his world becomes a void of pain, red flashing behind his lids.

Ben Solo would have drowned in it.

Kylo Ren was born in it. 

He sinks himself into Rey and begins.

\------------

He lays eyes on his uncle for the first time in seven years with Rey in his arms. He’s accompanied by a young man, probably the traitor from before. It seems whatever damage he dealt FN-2187 ( _his name is Finn,_ she sleepily brushes across his mind) on Starkiller Base has been fixed. He feels a vague sense of relief that’s not completely due to her.

“I come in peace,” he states in an attempt to parley, slowly walking across the wide expanse of ice and snow. “It seems you received my message.”

Silence and stone-faced. For good reason, he reflects. The evidence is somewhat damning but also confusing. She’s obviously been injured and it looks like she’s unconscious but she’s wrapped in his ragged black cloak along with her furs. He may not be a friend per se, but his current actions are not those of an enemy. 

“Well, are one of you going to take her? I’ve done what I can but she should see an actual doctor as opposed to…” he trails off. 

The younger of the two men slowly approaches him, one hand on the blaster at his side. He’s wary and shielded. Odd.

He adjusts his grasp on her. “You’re going to need both hands for her. She’s surprisingly heavy,” he mutters, shifting his weight to get a better handle on her in the wind.

The trai--no, _Finn_ shoulders his blaster and takes her bundled form in his arms whilst his uncle stares warily. Transferal complete, he turns and begins to walk back into the frozen wasteland. A storm is brewing.

“Where are you going?” is thrown into the wind. It’s been so long, he’s uncertain as to whether it’s his uncle or the other one. 

He stills.

“That’s an excellent question,” he replies softly. He heads back into the storm.

_Fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh, _what are you going to do now Kylo?_


	9. Somnolence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest.

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

Her head hurts. Her chest feels like a bantha kicked her in the ribs and decided to take a nap on the spot afterwards. She aches _everywhere_. Where is she?

Voices murmur in the background. She hears bits of conversation. Something about healing and _“Should we tell the General?”_ and _“I don’t know.”_. The General? What about the General? Tell the General what? She struggles to dig through pain to her patchy memories. 

_Traitor/his name is Finn_

Oh. _Oh._

Kylo Ren.

He saved her.

The creature, the fight, the ice and snow, him slowly trying to heal her. She remembers _all_ of it. 

“He left this behind as well.” Finn hands over a small black pouch. Does the man not own _anything_ that’s not black? She takes it. It’s small but heavy. “We didn’t open it,” he adds.

She looks at Finn. “It could be a trap,” she notes, shaking the small bag in her hand. Small clinking sounds are produced that seem to vibrate within the Force as well. 

Finn grimaces. “That’s true but...there was something in his eyes.”

“Murder?” she asks half-jokingly. She still remembers parts of the fight on _Starkiller_ and the viciousness with which they fought. She’s still impressed by Finn’s ability to fight back and survive.

“No, misery,” he says finally standing with a rueful curve to his lips. “Anyway, the doctors said you need to rest. They said that whatever was done, while somewhat on the crude side, definitely saved your life.” 

“Then why do I feel like a herd of bantha danced on my ribs?” she grumbles. 

“Welcome to the magic of the healing process,” he exclaims brightly and exits the room.

Leaving her alone. Again.

She stares at the small soft pouch. It’s seems to be made out of some soft fuzzy cloth, she notes as she rubs her fingers against it. She unties the cord wrapped around the bag and pours the contents on to her lap.

They’re rocks? She picks one up and feels it _sing._ Pure and clear through the Force. They’re not rocks. They’re _crystals_. Kyber crystals. It seems she’ll have a souvenir of her trip beyond massive blood loss.

She sighs and leans down, trying to get a better look at the clean bandages wrapped about her abdomen. She plucks at the wrappings and winces. Still tender. Still sore. She flops back onto the cot.

_It’s going to scar_ , she flings out into the abyss of the Force. She doesn’t even know if it will even work or--

_I’m sorry._

She freezes. Her eyes searching the space around her. Empty.

_I’m not actually there with you, you know,_ he remarks, amused.

_Well, I know this isn’t a dream then._

_How so?_

_You talk and wear less._

Silence, with an odd feeling of embarrassment? 

_Are you blushing?_ she asks gleefully. She’s not certain if the meds are driving this wave of sadistic amusement but she’s willing to ride it to its end. Ride. She laughs to herself.

_Obviously, the Resistance is not short of proper medications._

She freezes at that. The First Order. If Kylo can reach her then--

_They won’t touch you. Or the Resistance. At least not due to me._

_Kylo--_

_I need to go._

_Where are you?_ she asks, panicked. Something feels _off._

_Nowhere important. I need to do something._ Short. Abrupt. 

_Kylo,_ she tries to reach him again. Nothing.

_Kylo, if you’re listening. The crystals. Thank you._

She lies back, exhaustion finally rolling in. 

Just as she’s about to slip away into darkness, a soft _you're welcome_ caresses her thoughts.

She smiles.

(Her dreams are softer that night. Soft hands and light touches. _I won’t break_ , she says. _But I may,_ he replies. She bites. He keens.) 


	10. Dreams Made Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with an old friend.

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS GREEN FOUR** , drones the dealer droid in the back room of a secluded cantina.

“This is familiar,” a man notes softly.

**PLAYER ONE HOLDS**

“It is,” a woman replies.

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS GREEN TEN**

“Good familiar or bad familiar?” he asks.

**PLAYER TWO PLAYS RED MINUS EIGHT**

“I’m still deciding.” The response is clipped.

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS GREEN THREE**

“You invited me in for a game,” the man replies softly.

**PLAYER ONE HOLDS**

“My father once said, the best way to know someone is to play a game with them,” the woman responds.

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS YELLOW NINE**

“ _Kriff_ — he said that about _Sabacc._ ”

**PLAYER TWO PLAYS MINUS TEN**

“True, but you _cheat_.”

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS YELLOW TWO**

“It’s Sabacc, you’re _supposed_ to cheat.”

**PLAYER ONE PLAYS RED MINUS SIX**

“Poe never cheated.”

A hand stills briefly over the Pazaak deck at this pronouncement. 

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS GREEN FOUR**

“Poe always lost.”

**PLAYER TWO HOLDS**

“Did he? It seems to me he’s winning at this point,” she remarks casually. She waves a slim brown hand over the deck.

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS GREEN EIGHT**

“And you’ve come to this opinion how?” the man remarks dryly.

**PLAYER ONE PLAYS RED MINUS THREE**

“I don’t know, I feel not being the scourge of the known galaxy is a pretty winning position to be in. But please, feel free to correct me,” the woman drawls, her eyes skimming across the board.

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS GREEN FIVE**

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill me on sight,” he says softly.

**PLAYER TWO HOLDS**

“I’m still considering that option,” she murmurs back. The woman finally settles her dark gaze on him. “I still don’t know what I see.”

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS GREEN SIX**

“What did you expect to see? A monster?” he asks bitterly. 

**PLAYER ONE PLAYS MINUS ONE**

“A man so warped by cruelty and bloodlust that he was beyond hope.”

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS GREEN ONE**

“And now?”

**PLAYER TWO DRAWS YELLOW ONE**

“I see a man with blood on his hands but who can still feel regret. There may be some hope for you yet. Perhaps. You seemed to have lost your path.”

**PLAYER ONE DRAWS GREEN ONE**

“I have,” he admits. Verbally honest for the first time in years. He feels an odd sort of relief akin to the unwrapping of a freshly healed scar. It hurts exposing it to the air, but the lack of constraints is freeing. 

**PLAYER ONE PLAYS GREEN ONE**

**PLAYER ONE HAS REACHED TWENTY**

**GAME TO PLAYER ONE, OFEDYA CALRISSIAN**

“I think this is the first time you’ve admitted to not knowing where you’re going, _Benny,_ ” Lando Calrissian’s daughter—well _one_ of his daughters, Kylo notes—replies with a quirk of her lips. She starts to collect the cards strewn across the table. He stands up to help her, his fingers rubbing softly across the well worn deck.

“Your father always said there was a first time for everything, Dya.”

“True, but that was due to you vomiting all that Corellian Whiskey all over the Dejarik board.” 

Kylo winces at that memory. It was one of the few times that Poe, Dya, and he were all in the same place after he was sent to Luke. He was _finally_ taller than both of them and swore that meant he could drink them under the table like the son of Corellia that he was. He failed miserably. The hot shame he felt between Skywalker’s stern lectures regarding _a Jedi strives for a life of moderation_ and the General’s thin-lipped disappointment still twists in his stomach, but even that is nothing to the memory of his father. 

His father--he wishes to shy away from that thought but--his father gently smoothing his hair away from his face as he retched for a good two hours in the refresher, bringing his son small sips of water, rubbing his shoulders as Ben Solo _sobbed_ out _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ and him replying _it’s okay kid, next time we can share some. Just you and me._

That next time will never come. It hurts more than he had ever expected. Dya seems to sense the subtle shift in Kylo’s demeanor. 

“You’re parsecs away, Solo. I’m almost offended,” she says lightly as they stroll down the corridors of her estate in the New Vertica sector of Nar Shaddaa, _Majie_. “I haven’t seen you in years and yet you can’t even be bothered with basic courtesy.”

“Hello Ofedya, how are you doing? I’m doing quite well ignoring the fact that I’ve managed to be influential in engaging in galactic tyranny, mayhem, and murder--including my own father.” 

“Any small Solos running around?” 

“I admit to patricide and you ask about _whether I’ve reproduced?”_

“No?” she tilts her head sideways at this. “Boyfriend, girlfriend, anyone? I’ve heard they’re quite good for stress.”

“Not relevant,” he grits out, praying to any higher power--he doubts that the Force will listen given his current track record--that he’s not blushing. 

Dya’s grinning. Damnit. 

“Ohhh, there _is_ someone! Is it one of those, what are they called, Knights of yours? Or is it some random First Order lackey?” she asks, glee infusing her words.

“Neither, not that it’s relevant,” he says abruptly, increasing his speed and forcing his overly inquisitive companion to choose between jogging and getting tangled in the robes draped about her form or continuing to probe. She speeds up. “How do _you_ know of the Knights of Ren?” 

“I have my ways,” she says offhandedly. 

“Dya.”

“One, you haven’t earned the right to use that name,” she replies sharply. “Two, I have connections. You don’t become a key player in the shadow network on Nar Shaddaa _without_ being extremely well informed and up to date.”

“ _Dya.”_

“I’ve already said more than enough,” she replies entering the access code to a door at the end of the hall. “Either way, I’ve taken your request to the relevant parties and they approved it.”

“Very well, I--”

“It will take thirty-six hours.”

“Why the kriffing hell does acquiring aship and moving credits take _thirty-six_ hours?” 

“You’re asking me- and my associates- to move a not _in_ significant amount of money and acquire not merely a ship but a _clean_ ship.” She turns to face him. Her small roundish face has to crane back in order to look him in the eye. He could kneel but he won’t--that would just earn her ire. “Either we alert every bounty hunter on this side of the rim, which I _assume_ is not your goal, or you can wait until we can ensure our safety as well as my professional reputation.”

“Not my safety,” he notes lightly. Her eyes shift to the saber clipped to his hip and then back to his face. She arches a brow. “Point taken.”

She reaches into the recesses of her robes and pulls out a set of small data chips. “Take these.”

“I have funds--”

“And I have influence. Influence is the currency here, Solo, and I am flush with it,” she remarks, placing the chips in the palm of his hand. “These should make your stay here moderately unhindered.”

“Only moderately.”

“I only control a small fraction of the planet, Solo. Come back in a few years and I’ll be up to a third.” 

They reach the foyer of the _Majie_ and Kylo heads towards the exit. He turns at the gate and dips his head towards her. “Thank you.”

“You’ll owe me a favor and having a Force user in your back pocket is always a useful thing,” she states, waving off his thanks.

“True.” He pulls his hood over his head. “Also, one last thing.”

“You’re adding to your debt, Solo.”

“Give the General, when you talk to her, my condolences on her husband’s passing.”

Ofedya stills staring at him through shuttered eyes. “I will. And Ben, may the Force be with you, my old friend.”

The man formerly known as Ben Solo walks into the storm ridden underworld of Nar Shaadaa.

\------------

The streets of the Smugglers’ Moon are a hive of scum and villany. While Kylo Ren may have the lineage of long dead dynasties, he’s also the son of a smuggler. He falls right into the seedy masses and slips into anonymity. It’s been a long time since he’s been in such a role. While thirty-six hours isn’t a lot in the scheme of things, it is an excessive amount of aimless free time. He could head to the sabacc tables, but he hates losing and winners attract far too much attention. He has no interest heading down to the Pleasure quarters nor to watch one of the many blood matches, the preferred entertainment for the bloodthirsty. Instead, he slips into a nearby cantina in the Corellian sector. 

He sits at the bar. His clothes are worn and nondescript but clean. While the scar doesn’t do much for his looks, he reflects ruefully, it does add to his persona of a regular denizen of Nar Shaddaa or at least someone not worth troubling. 

He orders some ryshcate--indulging a rarely satisfied sweet tooth--and some water. The bartender gives him a stare at that request but Kylo ignores it. It’s best to have a clear head in the underworld, especially for one who doesn’t want to be exposed. And regardless, Kylo doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach the whiskey of his father’s people for a long time. The server returns with the cake and water and heads back to more profitable customers, possibly with the additional motivation of a slight mental nudge. Kylo takes a small forkful of the ryshcate. It’s moist and crumbly, heavily flavored with Corellian whisky. 

“I’ll have what he’s having,” a familiar voice next to him states. Evidently, Dya’s network works far quicker than he expected. 

_Or I found you through the force,_ Rey brushes across his mind as she thanks the waiter for her order. They sit in silence.

_Here to drag me back to the Resistance?_

_You’ve been quiet. Why?_

_Answering a question with question._ He drinks. _You have been learning from Skywalker._

 _I was worried._ She’s staring into her glass, her brow furrowing as if that admission disturbed her. He doesn’t blame her. She spares a glance in his direction. 

_You--_

There’s a commotion outside. That’s not abnormal for Nar Shaddaa but this, _this_ is different. He senses the dull whine of blaster shot before he hears it. _Stormtroopers._ They’ve found him. Kylo turns to Rey, ready to send her away when she starts removing ties from her hair. Locks tumbling down unhindered. _What the Sith are you doing?_

 _Play along._ She stands, knocking over his partially full glass whilst stumbling into his lap. And giggling.

“What the--,” he sputters.

“Oops,” Rey says or at least he thinks it’s her? Her voice is pitched falsely high, her teeth bared in a mockery of smile, and he feels acutely aware of her hands smoothing across the planes of his chest, nails catching on the loose threads of his clothes. He hears the dull thud of boots entering the cantina. 

_Play along,_ she repeats again.

 _Play how?! Why are you touching me?!_ He tries to halt her motions by placing his hands on her narrow hips. In response, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. It’s unexpected and it shows. Some drunkards bellow in the background. He wants to strangle them. 

_Kylo, no!_ She clings tighter, pressing her tongue against the seam of his lips. It’s awkward--he has no experience to draw on in how to respond to the soft intrusion and he takes to moment to regret not rebelling in this direction in his youth. She’s eases off slightly, giving him room to take a slight breath, and then gently nips at his bottom lip. _We need a distraction. Follow my lead._

 _Because it’s going so well at the moment,_ he snipes. While he doesn’t feel any of the Knights of Ren planetside, he’s still concerned. They do need a distraction, but he’s uncertain as to how to get it. 

_Ask them for a room,_ she prods, shifting her weight onto him which in turn requires him to clasp her tighter to him. By now she’s half straddling him; it feels as if her continual invasion of his space will claim him.

 _We have ‘troopers to our back and you want a room--agh,_ he hisses as she bites down on the tendons of his neck.

_Which is less suspicious, two people leaving a bar immediately after group of ‘troopers show up or a couple half-mad with lust stumbling off to find a room?_

She has a point.

He extricates a hand from underneath her tunic and flags down the server.

\------------

It’s a cozy room for a brothel. Admittedly, Kylo’s experience with establishments of this ilk are somewhat limited, but the fact remains that it is not what he was expecting.

“It’s less sandy than what I’m used to,” Rey notes, stripping off her coat. And shirt. He suddenly finds the walls an endless source of fascination. “Are you going to follow my lead or not?” she asks expectantly, before stepping in front of him and placing her warm hands underneath his shirt. 

“I can undress myself,” he sputters, flushing at her proximity. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“Haven’t you done it plenty of times in those dreams?”

“I know what I’m doing in dreams,” he mutters, yanking the shirt over his head. 

She’s staring. He knows that he’s far from the handsomest of creatures, but he didn’t think he was _that_ hideous looking. He’s large and gangly, which is at least an improvement from his youth when he was depressingly scrawny and gangly, but now he has that hideous scar across his face and this was a horrible decision and he’s regretting this and--

Rey places a calloused palm on his chest. She looks up at him, her eyes warm. “You’re not hideous,” she says softly, placing her lips on the still fading bruise from their last encounter. Her lips are soft and warm. She slowly maneuvers him to the bed. He sits cautiously, legs spread wide, for once looking up to her in reality as opposed to in dreams. He grabs the hand on his chest and kisses it. She flinches--no _shivers_. He does it again, this time on her wrist, sucking slightly. A breath.

He steadies himself by placing a tentative hand on her waist and leisurely explores the tanned expanse of Rey’s arms. It’s not smooth and unmarked but lean, with a few pale, long-healed scars. It’s the arm of a woman who fights for everything she has. He softly places his lips on each scar, slowly working his way along the length of her arm.

Rey yanks her arm away, and before he can even draw a breath to ask, she swings a leg over his lap, digging her knees into the bed. 

Her breasts are directly in his front of face. They’re covered with a band. But still. Breasts in his face, and she’s laughing now. 

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” he grumbles. He can feel his ears getting red at this. He attempts to shift certain parts away from her, but Rey denies him this by full on sitting in his lap. Complete with wriggling. He’s less than thrilled.

“Odd, I think _some_ part of you is thrilled,” she says with a smirk, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses him, her tongue softly coaxing his mouth to open. 

_Relax,_ she prowls soothingly amongst the frantic onslaught of his thoughts. _Just do what feels good._

Do what feels good. Such a novel concept, he reflects. He’s become so accustomed to embracing pain; the idea of actively desiring something pleasant is somewhat terrifying. He does try.

Kylo cradles her face in the palm of his hand and gives in to sensation. He pulls her waist in closer, settling her fully in his lap against his cock. She hums softly against his lips, grinding down in response. They kiss, slowly exploring each other, pulling on the bond between them to judge whether the other is going _too fast/too slow/more/yesss_.

He carefully moves his palm along her side, noting the leanness of her frame. _Sorry,_ Rey mumbles as she mouths along the line of his neck. 

_You’re lovely,_ he responds. _And strong, so so strong,_ as his hand slowly treks up the lines of back coming across the odd wrappings that are around her chest. 

“May I?” he murmurs softly. 

“Yes,” she breathes, pulling him back in for a kiss.

He pulls on the bindings, trying clumsily to unwrap Rey before finally using the Force to snap them.

“ _Kylo_ ,” she gasps. “I need those,” she bites out, digging her nails into his back. He hisses in response as threads of arousal shoot through his spine. 

“Sorry,” he says staring dazedly at the picture in front of him. Her breasts are small, but pleasantly firm against his hands. He cups one in his palm and squeezes. Rey shudders slightly, her canines just barely grazing the crook of his neck.

He squeezes again, this time pulling at a dusky nipple. She bites off a moan against his skin. He wants more. He leans down and slowly runs his tongue around the erect peak. Her thighs tighten around his waist at this. Kylo steadies Rey on his lap and twists, forcing Rey onto her back, his arms framing her ribs.

“Wha-- _ah”,_ she pants as Kylo begins to suck at one of her nipples whilst toying at the hardened pebble of the other with his fingers. He remembers those sounds from their dreams. He feels heat pooling in his groin in response to Rey’s sighs. He releases her now reddened nipple with a wet _pop_ then slowly runs his hands along edge of her pants. He nips along her abdomen, desperately trying to pull on his vague dream knowledge to make this _worthwhile_ for her.

Thankfully, Rey has no qualms in giving directions. She prods at his chest with a foot, forcing him onto his knees between her legs whilst stripping off her leggings and basics, and scoots herself forward onto the edge of the bed. “Do you remember this?” she asks as she combs her fingers through his hair before pulling slightly. There’s a whimper. A moment passes before he realizes it’s his. 

“Yes,” he swallows as he gently braces himself with a hand on her thigh. This was much easier within the haze of dreams, he muses, probing her softness with a finger. She’s hot and wet, he notes, staring at the slick covering his finger. He licks his finger. She’s tastes vaguely of salt and flesh. She moans.

Kylo takes in her sodden flushed lips and the small nub sitting at the top. He strokes this time, exploring her slowly, noting what strokes draw out which sounds. A light brush gains a faint sigh. The tip of his finger at her entrance: a whimper. A firm finger to her clit gains heavy pants, while fully inserting a finger between her swollen lips leads her to buck up against his hand. At this point he throws his free arm across her hips, forcing her into a supine position on the bed. “Stop--ah, teasing,” she bites out, yanking hard on his scalp. 

“Tell me, what do then,” he says after a long hard suck leads her to shriek. “Fingers,” she pants out. “Two--ah better than-- _oh Maker yes,”_ as he pulls on the bond to determine her desires. He takes two of his fingers and slowly sinks them into her slick folds as he begins to work her clit between his lips. The only sounds escaping from the room are the sounds of Rey’s muffled screams and the wet sounds as Kylo worships between her thighs.

Rey is limp and loose limbed afterwards, breathing heavily. She pulls weakly at his hair and Kylo acquiesces, slowly climbing onto the bed next her. She starts pulling at his belt, fingers brushing against his hard length. 

“I--you don’t-- _ahh_ ,” he stutters as she finally manages to undo his pants enough to wrap her hand around his cock. He’s hard and leaking embarrassingly. Rey licks her palm and starts to pump. 

“I know I don’t have to,” she says as she nips at his shoulder, using teeth. He whines shamefully, thrusting into her hand. “But I want to,” she finishes huskily.

He stills her motions, trying to convince some of his blood flow to stay in his head. “I can’t,” he swallows. “We can’t--you might,” he chokes out awkwardly. Rey stares at him, briefly confused, and then takes his hand in hers and draws it to the inner part of her bicep. He presses his fingers along the lines of her muscles, noting an odd raised length along one part. _Oh._ She has an implant, much like the one he has lying in a similar place along his arm.

“We can still stop if you want,” Rey states stilling the hand on his cock. He kisses her in response, pulling her hips flush against his. “Was that a yes?” she asks softly.

“Yes. Please. Yes, please.” 

With a twist of her hips, Rey drags Kylo on top of her, lining up his cock with her slickness. He thrusts and misses, the head of his cock grazing over her wetness and bumping up against her clit. Idiot. She laughs softly. _You can use your hands, you know_. He flushes. He did know that. He tries again, this time grasping his cock near the head and pressing in. 

Heat. 

Soft. 

Wet. 

And so, so _tight_. Kylo huffs and slowly pushes in. Too slowly, evidently, because Rey slings a leg around his waist and sinks him into her. She hisses, fingers claw at his sides.

“Should I stop?” he asks worriedly. She’s hurting. He can feel it. He didn’t think he’d hurt. Oh god, he can’t even--- 

“Stop thinking so loud,” she huffs, rolling her hips. “I’m fine,” she clenches down on him. _Oh._ “Just _move._ ” 

Kylo, if nothing else, responds well to orders. It’s awkward at first. While the motion isn’t new to him, doing it with a partner is. He slips out once or twice in the process of learning how to give and take with his hips, but he learns quickly. How to snap his hips on the downstroke, grinding down on her clit. How to draw back slowly, making the most of the long draw across that small swollen patch inside of her. She, in turn, sporadically clenches about him as he draws out, enticing him to hilt himself back inside of her. The Force bond forms a heady feedback loop between them, feeding pleasure between them.

It’s intoxicating. 

It can’t last.

He comes first, hips working in a desperate staccato. His eyes wet; lips moaning softly. Kylo flips them over, working his thumb frantically over her slick nub. Finally, she breaks, digging her nails into his chest.

Rey collapses inelegantly on top of him, shaking. He can feel her pulse racing. She starts to roll off and Kylo pulls her closer instead. 

“I’m heavy,” she slurs into his neck, half-heartedly trying to break free of his grip. 

“I don’t mind,” he whispers into the darkness. “You’re warm.” 

She persists and he lets her go with a sigh. Everyone lets go of him eventually, he reflects as he rolls over and huddles into a ball. There’s a yank on the blanket from behind. He shifts to look over his shoulder as one of her arms slips about his waist and an intimately familiar body presses against his back. 

_Still warm?_ she asks, rubbing her nose at the nape of his neck. He entwines his fingers with hers.

 _Yes,_ he replies. They drift off into the abyss of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry. ~~yes, I wrote this fic solely to have Rey deflower Kylo in a brothel~~ *LIES DOWN*


	11. Rouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning comes.

He wakes up worn and _sore._ His back hurts. Kylo feels like he’s been training for days but to a far more satisfying end. The artificial light of Nar Shaddaa slips through the blinds scattering across the cold sheets. The pillows still smell faintly of sand and nightblossoms. All things that merge together into a scent that Kylo views strictly as _her._

She’s gone. He feels a little…hurt. Empty. He recognizes that it was just release. Merely an animalistic joining of bodies, that should have no influence on their more rational functions. And yet, he still remembers the feeling of her hair in his hands, the curve of her spine beneath his palms, the taste of her, and the sounds she made while they made their dreams flesh. 

He looks around the floor for his clothes. 

Nothing.

So not only does he get the joy of waking to an empty bed--well, waking up a second time, he acknowledges the claw marks along his back in the mirror across the room--but also evidently she’s absconded off with his clothes as well. He scans the room look for something to potentially cover himself when he notes a folded bundle of clothes with a small holopad on top. He walks over to the chair, noting that while the the clothes are his, the tablet is not.

Kylo turns on the holopad.

An intimately familiar form is projected. Rey’s standing. Her hair is down and somewhat messy but she’s--sadly, he notes--dressed. The projection speaks.

“By the time you hear this, I should be gone. Where, I am not at the liberty to share and honestly,” she pulls a wry smile at this, “given your connections past or otherwise, it would not be in our interests to divulge our plans to you.”

She looks pensive after this statement, her hands absentmindedly stroking at the fabric of her sleeve whilst chewing at her lip. Kylo wishes he could reach and sense her thoughts somehow but instead all he has is a blue-tinged illusion. Finally, after a few more moments, she speaks.

“I haven’t forgiven you for what you did to Han.” He flinches at this. Her words are calm and steady but they feel like knives slowly drawing out his sins. She continues. “To Finn. To so, so many others across the galaxy. I don’t know if I ever will. But I also do not _fuck_ people I actively detest.” He chokes. The projection goes on. “Nor have I started.”

“I don’t hate you, Kylo. I don’t know--” she swallows at this. “--what I feel towards you nor will I lie to you and say that I am unaffected by you.”

He freezes at this.

“You have to decide your path for yourself. Whatever you choose, it will not be easy, or simple or clean. I can’t promise you anything, only that your path is your own. May the Force be with you.” There’s a pause in the recording. She looks conflicted, biting a nail pensively. Finally, coming to some kind of resolution, she says, “Be safe.” The projector snaps off.

Silence fills the chamber.

His eyes are wet.

There’s a knock at the door. His presence is requested by Calrissian.

He gets ready to face the day.

\------------

The ship is hidden in one of the many ports that hosts vessels of the various denizens of Nar Shaddaa. It’s long, slim ship made for a small crew. Plenty of space for a solo inhabitant, a protocol droid yammers in the background. There’s a poignant irony in that, Kylo notes as he and Ofedya stroll to the docking bay.

“I’ve heard some rumors,” the small woman says, her footsteps echoing whilst they walk. “That certain elite operatives of the First Order paid a visit to our little moon last night.”

Kylo grunts noncommittally. Dya has always been overly fond of theatrics, and while some of his memories of his childhood fallen to the sands of time, he does remember that it’s much easier to let her have her way, complete with the aggressive embellishment that she learned at her father’s knee.

“Of course, they didn’t find what or,” she shoots a look in his direction, “Who they were looking for. Also, who’s the girl?”

His pace stutters for half a second before resuming. Purposefully.

“Someone far more gracious than I.”

“That’s at least half the known galaxy.”

“She’s someone…who could have been a friend in another life.”

“And in this life? The one you’re living.”

“I don’t know.”

“May you find that answer,” she says, stopping in front of a ship. It’s exactly as the protocol droid described. It’s long and lean, large enough to hold a small crew of five, and…

“It’s red,” Kylo states bluntly.

“Yes?” she responds

“I asked for _discrete._ ”

“You asked for,” she takes out a hand and begins to count off. “A ship without any ties, known or otherwise, to the First Order or the New Republic. A ship without any of the traditional accoutrements regarding identifiable security measures, habitable for _humans,_ low profile on ship scanners,has a functional hyperdrive--”

“I could have dealt with a partially functional hyperdrive,” he interjects.

“You can barely engineer your way out of a paper bag and I’ve seen your saber,” she remarks. “I refuse to have a valuable ship be blown up due to your own ineptitude. I want it _back_. Furthermore, on top of those requests, _a cloaking device_. Do you know how _kriffing_ hard it is to get your hands on those? Let alone in under a _week? Under forty-eight hours?_ You’re lucky I have connections with drive yards. Yet, instead of ‘Thank you, Ofedya. Truly, you are the most gracious and cunning of them all’, I get complaints over _color._ ”

“...because it’s _red.”_

“Scanners don’t care about the color and neither should you. Honestly, the majority of the people coming after you would believe that you’d pick a mode of transport closest to your prior vessel. This acts as a subversion in a sense.” She takes in his dark apparel. “Besides, you could use a few drops of color in your life,” she notes softly.

He takes in the ship. It’s loud. Flashy. _Much like Han Solo_ , a part of him thought long dead whispers. He sighs and turns to face Ofedya.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “I haven’t done much to deserve such generosity on your part. Please take the desired payment out the appropriate accounts.”

“No, you haven’t, and that’s not the payment I want.”

\------------

He goes to Corellia. He’s seen the Lakehouse of his mother’s kin on Naboo, and the harsh desert world that was once home to his uncle and grandfather, but he’s never been to the Core World that brought forth his father. The day is sunny and warm for such a sober event, he reflects as he walks along the spaceport. He has a no idea if it’s the right one. 

Han Solo rarely spoke of his youth on Corellia, stating that _his life didn’t truly begin until he met Chewbacca_ and _never gained color till he met Her Highness_ with a rueful smile, ruffling Kylo’s hair and promptly redirecting the conversation to Kylo’s training or some exaggerated story of smuggling expeditions from his youth. He’s starting to understand. He wish could tell his father _I understand now_. 

He sits downs, takes a small glass and bottle out of his pouch, and pours. He takes a sip.

His coughs echo in the shadows.

He remembers the day he was sent to his uncle. _It’s for the best_ , it was said. _I wish you could stay_. He remembers those thoughts brushing across his mind and wanting to scream. _If you loved me you would keep me_ , he remembers wanting to yell. Instead, he kept silent. Accepting but unwilling.

A sip.

He remembers the stilted holos with the General. The General. His mother. Some say it’s two sides of the same coin, but to him those identities were always continually merged together to the point that he could never be certain if they were ever separate entities. The General was his mother. His mother was the General. Her face lined with the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders. As a child, he never wanted to add to it. As an adult, he’s failed.

Another sip.

The hidden whispers chasing him at night. The honeyed words wrapped in legacy and the revelation of a birthright that he knew far too little about. The blood on his hands. His actions. The choices he made, wide-eyed and full of rage. The utter nothingness of millions of lives being ripped from the fabric of the Force in a single horrifying instant. The void that remained. Still remains.

The whiskey burns.

He remembers an aged palm cupping his face. The palm connected to a face he hadn’t seen in years. The smell of seared flesh filling his nostrils. The anguish and rage from above and the soft _“I forgive you, my son,”_ drifting across his mind. He knocks back the rest of the glass and just lies there. The cool durasteel grating soothing his wet face.

He lies there for what feels like hours in the silence of the docking bay.

“I didn’t think it was the way of the Jedi to prowl amongst the shadows,” he states resignedly. 

“I didn’t think you heard me,” Rey replies, sinking down to the ground next to him. “And I’m not a Jedi.”

“Skywalker will be heartbroken.”

“I think he’s been so for a while.”

“...fair. Have you told him what happened, or am I a Dark spot in your life in the Light?” he asks softly. _Idiot._

“He knows that we’re connected through this bond, and that you were spotted on Nar Shaddaa. Beyond that, it’s my life. My choices.”

“Your mistakes?”

“The only one who considers himself a mistake is you, Kylo.”

They sit in a delicate silence not truly uneasy but awkward. Unsure. 

He gives in first.

“I need a teacher,” he says.

“I may know one,” she replies.

\------------

 _The planet that Luke Skywalker resides upon is green and barren_ , he notes as he lands his ship next to Rey’s. 

There are three people waiting for them. One who forsook the name that the First Order gave him, his eyes wary, his thoughts a blank wall. Another, a man tied to his past and hopefully, his future as well. 

He approaches them, each step shedding the chains of his prior life, while walking towards an uncertain future. He faces the last one, someone he never thought he would see again in his lifetime.

“Hello, Mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, we've made it to the end. O_o  
> I just want to thank the [ Reylo Fanfiction Anthology](http://reylofanfictionanthology.tumblr.com) as a whole for the giving me the opportunity to participate. My beta [chrysogenum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysogenum) for taking the time to help me get this into a readable state, and finally thank you the readers for taking the time to comment. It brought me joy beyond measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/concrit/feedback are amazing and feel free to hit me up on tumblr at mnemehoshiko!


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